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SELECTIONS 


FROM  THE 


WRITINGS 


OF 


Henry  Marcus  Putney 


MANCHESTER  N.  H. 

PRINTED  BY  THE  JOHN  B.  CLARKE  CO. 
1910 


?tf 


Note. 

This    book   has   been   published   at    the    earnest 
solicitation  of  many  friends  of  our  father. 

Minnie  E.  Putney. 
Mabel  E.  Putney. 

Manchester,  N.  H.,  July,  1910. 


Contents* 


Page 

Christmas 9 

English  Pomp  and  Paupers 10 

"No  Mortgage  on  My  House" 15 

The  Booker  Washington  Dinner 17 

A  loved  and  Trusted  President 19 

The  President  is  Dead 22 

A  National  Funeral 23 

>-      Remarks  at  Coon  Club 25 

OS 

2  Letter  to  the  Coon  Club 23 

3  "The  Portsmouth  Curfew" 29 

Old  Home  Week 33 

«l       Address  at  Dunbarton  Old  Home  Day  ....  36 

in      A  Gay  Deceiver 40 


s 


3 


Memorial  Day 42 

The  Cities  of  the  Dead 43 

Flag  Day,  June  13,  1901 45 

q      The  Glorious  Fourth 46 

An  Old-Time  Thanksgiving 47 

'■■)       Christmas 55 

^       Dennis  and  the  Other 56 

:'.       The   "Jiners" 58 

ij       What  Do  We  Work  For? 63 

The  Boy  Finds  His  Father 67 

The  Boy's  Return 70 

The  Boy's  Life  in  Washington.    No.  1         ...  73 


Ll' 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

Tut's  "Boy's  Letter  from  Washington.     No.  2       .         .  75 

The  Human  Woodehuck             79 

Oom  Taul 82 

"Mr.  Destiny"      .                 83 

The  Democratic  Leader 84 

Lightning  at  Close  Range 8.) 

The  State's  Money 87 

The  Man  of  the  Hour 90 

What  Jones  Can  Say 96 

Charles  T.  Means.     The  Tribute  of  a  Friend        .        .  101 

Bishop  Bradley 103 

Frank  Dowst 106 

Mrs.  Aretas  Blood 108 

Moody  Currier 109 

Andrew  Bunton 113 

Because  He  Was  True 115 

Neil  Bancroft  Drew 116 

A  Mourning  Nation.     Mark  Hanna          ....  118 

Josiah  G.  Bellows 119 

The  Country  Lawyer 122 

Ruel   Durkee 124 

Oilman  Marston 126 


Selections  from  the  Writings 

of 

Henry  Marcus  Putney. 


Christmas, 

The  Christian  world  has  wreathed  its  natal  day  in  the 
brightest  and  best  of  earth.  Its  ceremonies  illustrate 
the  tenderest  affections,  the  highest  hopes,  the  most 
unalloyed  happiness  of  mortal  man,  and  typify  the  faith, 
the  aspirations,  and  the  delights  of  immortality.  They 
banish  for  the  time  what  is  hard  and  cruel  and  hateful 
in  life:  the  greed,  the  scheming  selfishness,  the  reckless 
reach  for  power,  the  mad  rush  for  position,  the  remorse- 
less destruction  of  rivals,  and  usher  in  the  simplicity, 
the  beauty,  the  generosity,  the  gayety  of  childhood; 
the  care  and  affectionate  pride  of  parents;  the  thought- 
ful regard  of  friends,  and  the  sustaining  piety  of  all 
who  believe  in  Him  that  came  preaching  "Peace  on 
earth,  good  will  to  man." 

The  church,  resplendent  in  garlands  and  lights  and 
resonant  with  joyous  carols;  the  Christmas  tree,  rich  in 
the  fruitage  of  plans  and  work  for  others;  the  home, 
abounding  in  glad  surprises  and  abundant  fruition  of 
the  hopes  and  anticipations  of  weeks;  the  banquet  hall, 
where  the  feast  is  spread;  the  street,  where  greetings 
are  exchanged, — all  these  are  testimonies  that  man  is 
better  and  capable  of  better  things  than  he  appears  to 
be  at  other  seasons;  that  at  times  he  lives  for  others 
nnd  finds  his  greatest  delight  in  so  doing.  The  ex- 
pansion of  Christmas  observances  shows  how  satisfying 


10  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE   WRITINGS  OF 

they  are  to  the  best  longings  of  the  heart.  For  a  long 
time  they  were  confined  to  one  or  two  sects,  but  of  late 
they  command  the  endorsement  of  the  entire  Christian 
world,  including  not  only  the  professed  disciples  of 
Christ  but  all  who  are  associated  with  them.  In  Chris- 
tian countries  the  unbeliever  is  about  as  zealous  a  par- 
ticipant in  Christmas  ceremonies  and  joys  as  his  pious 
neighbor,  and  among  worshipers  there  are  no  separat- 
ing creeds  on  that  day.  The  obligation  to  be  good,  un- 
selfish, and  kind,  to  be  happy  and  make  all  others 
happy,  to  be  merry  and  wish  all  others  full  measure  of 
merriment,  to  be  generous  and  grateful  and  glad,  to 
illustrate  in  heart  and  soul  that  it  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive,  is  everywhere  recognized. 


English  Pomp  and  Paupers. 

About  ten  o'clock,  August  1,  1900,  General  Streeter 
of  Concord  and  the  writer  stood  upon  the  sidewalk 
opposite  St.  George's  Hall,  which  is  the  court  house  in 
Liverpool,  England,  and  saw  in  front  of  the  great  stone 
edifice  a  splendid  coach  drawn  by  a  pair  of  beautiful 
black  horses,  whose  gold-mounted  harnesses  gleamed 
through  the  rich  silk  netting  that  hung  over  them,  sup- 
porting the  heavy  tassels  that  festooned  their  legs. 
Upon  the  panels  of  the  door  of  the  coach  glistened  the 
royal  coat  of  arms.  Upon  the  box  sat  a  driver,  beside 
him  a  footman,  and  behind  stood  two  outriders,  all  in 
full  uniform.  In  front  of  the  team,  in  regular  order, 
were  twelve  tall  and  stalwart  men  uniformed  in  long 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  11 

cream-colored  coats  with  red  facings  and  gilt  buttons, 
6hort  velvet  pants  and  top  boots,  above  which  appeared 
silk  stockings  and  silver  knee  buckles  and  feathered 
hats  which  would  challenge  the  hot  envy  of  an  Amos- 
keag  Veteran.  Each  carried  in  his  hand  some  insignia 
of  authority,  one  a  spear,  another  a  mace,  and  the  others 
various  weapons.  In  front  of  them  posed  a  trumpeter. 
When  all  was  ready,  the  cortege  moved  solemnly  down 
the  street  toward  the  Adelphi  Hotel.  Streeter  and  I 
followed  on  the  sidewalk,  for  he  was  a  guest  at  that 
tavern.  When  we  approached  the  entrance  the  coach 
stood  in  front  and  the  coachman  and  footman  and  out- 
riders stood  with  folded  arms  upon  it.  The  twelve 
guardsmen  in  cream-colored  coats  had  cleared  the  pas- 
sageway to  the  hotel  door,  the  hall,  and  the  broad  stair- 
way leading  down  to  it,  and  stood  lined  up  six  on  each 
side  of  the  vacant  space.  We  made  our  way  through 
the  crowd  that  had  gathered  about  and  went  towards 
the  two  spearmen  who  held  the  walk  on.  that  side,  who 
majestically  ordered  us  to  "Fall  back!"  and  made  a  move 
as  if  to  spear  us  with  their  weapons.  Streeter  fell  back  a 
step  or  two,  and  then  his  Yankee  dander  rose,  and  he 
said,  "I  pay  ten  shillings  a  day  for  a  room  in  the  Adel- 
phi, and  I  'm  going  to  it  if  all  the  queen's  army  stands 
in  the  way."  He  went  ahead,  and  I,  considering  how 
thick  he  was  and  that  the  spear  must  go  through  him 
before  it  hit  me,  followed.  The  guardsman,  paralyzed 
by  his  audacity,  did  not  impale  him,  and  we  got  safely 
in  and  took  positions  behind  the  armed  gentlemen  in 
uniform.  Soon  after  there  appeared  on  the  top  of  the 
stairs  another  imposing,  character  in  gorgeous  accouter- 


12  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

ments,  and  behind  him  a  small  man  in  a  three-cornered 
hat,  a  black  swallow-tailed  coat  with  gilt  buttons  marked 
V.  R.,  a  velvet  vest  similarly  adorned,  knee  breeches, 
black  silk  stockings,  and  patent  leather  shoes  with  silver 
buckles,  and  the  pair  solemnly  marched  with  majestic 
tread  down  the  stairway,  across  the  hall,  and  out  over 
the  sidewalk  to  the  coach.  The  usher  opened  the  door 
of  the  carriage  and  the  guards  stood  with  uncovered 
heads  until  the  personage  in  swallow-tails  had  entered, 
when  the  trumpeter  sounded  an  advance,  the  guards  fell 
in  behind,  the  outriders  resumed  their  places,  and  the 
procession  moved  up  the  street  to  the  court  house.  As 
the  vision  of  greatness  and  glory  disappeared,  I  sank 
upon  a  settee  in  the  hall  and  gasped,  "The  Prince  of 
Wales!"  Streeter,  in  whose  head  magnificence  and 
might  are  always  associated  with  courts,  whispered 
feebly,  "The  lord  chief  justice!''  When  we  were  able 
we  asked  the  hotel  clerk  who  he  was.  He  rose  to  a 
grand  height,  looked  down  with  a  pitying  glance  at  the 
two  ignorant  foreigners,  and  said  proudly,  "The  high 
sheriff.  He  stops  here."  Then  I  fell  down  again,  and, 
between  convulsions,  said,  "The  high  sheriff!  Oh,  how 
I  wish  I  could  see  Nat  Doane  with  such  an  outfit  as 
that!"  To  which  Streeter,  with  characteristic  Concord 
jealousy,  responded,  "Or  Frank  Edgerly!" 

I  have  related  this  incident,  which  I  have  not  exag- 
gerated, because  it  illustrates  the  pomp  and  ceremony 
with  which  every  representative  of  royal  authority 
moves  in  England,  the  loyalty,  or,  as  I  should  call  it, 
the  servility  and  obsequiousness  of  the  people  and  the 
burdens  they  bear  in  the  shape  of  taxes  for  the  support 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  13 

of  an  utterly  useless  horde  of  officials  and  blue  bloods. 
An  Englishman  will  tell  you  he  is  as  free  and  independ- 
ent as  you;  that  his  government,  while  nominally  a 
monarchy,  is  as  democratic  as  yours;  but  I  question 
whether  there  is  a  civilized  country  on  the  map  in 
which  the  royalty  and  nobility  are  more  burdensome;  in 
which  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  population  is  sup- 
ported in  idleness  and  luxury  at  the  expense  of  the 
workers;  in  which  the  distance  between  the  rich  and 
the  poor  is  so  great.  Granting  that  the  government  of 
England  is  a  good  one  of  its  kind,  that  it  is  the  best  of 
that  kind  to  be  found  anywhere,  the  fact  remains  that 
it  is  not  a  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for 
the  people,  unless  they  were  born  with  silver  spoons 
in  their  mouths. 

In  a  previous  article  I  have  said  something  about  the 
direct  cost  of  the  royal  establishment  in  money  (which 
is  more  than  four  millions  a  year),  and  given  a  list  of 
the  titled  leeches  who  suck  most  of  the  money  out  of 
the  treasury,  and  mentioned  a  typical  pauper  who  was 
starving  at  the  palace  gate,  which  an  armed  force  pre- 
vented him  from  entering;  but  this  is  only  a  beginning. 
The  most  beautiful  and  fertile  part  of  rural  England 
that  I  have  seen  is  the  section  about  Leamington.  For 
twenty  miles  on  either  side  of  that  lovely  town  the  land 
is  owned,  as  it  has  been  for  centuries,  by  four  families 
who  exact  a  rental  of  about  seven  dollars  and  a  half  an 
acre  from  the  occupants  and  spend  the  proceeds  in  lux- 
urious elegance  and  idleness  in  the  castles  on  the  estates 
or  in  palaces  in  London.  The  most  valuable  real  estate 
in  London  is  owned  by  the  lords  and  dukes  and  counts 


14  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

and  marquises,  who  derive  fabulous  incomes  from  the 
rentals,  although  neither  they  nor  their  ancestors  ever 
earned  a  penny  in  it. 

And  Leamington  and  London  are  in  this  respect  like 
all  England,  except  a  few  manufacturing  districts. 
Britain  has  an  army  of  about  a  quarter  of  a  million  men 
in  Africa  and  another  in  China,  but  go  where  you  will 
in  England,  at  every  gate  and  every  corner,  you  meet  a 
brace  of  red-coated  soldiers,  who  are  being  trained  to 
defend  and  carry  into  new  territory  the  flag  that  sym- 
bolizes royal  authority  and  power.  Almost  as  often  you 
meet  a  beggar.  If  I  am  not  mistaken  one  person  in 
every  nine  in  England  is  a  pauper.  What  proportion 
is  nobility,  and,  therefore,  much  more  costly  public 
charges  than  the  paupers,  I  cannot  say,  but  it  is  very 
large. 

If  I  were  commissioned  to  devise  a  new  coat  of  arms 
for  England  it  would  bear  upon  its  face  a  queen  sur- 
rounded by  a  countless  family,  and  a  group  of  paupers 
kept  at  a  distance  by  a  soldier.  And  yet  it  must  be 
said  that  the  English  people  appear  to  like  it.  At  least 
the  great  majority  of  the  rich  and  poor  are  very  pro- 
fuse in  their  professions  of  loyalty.  There  is  an  under- 
current of  bitter  discontent  among  the  working  people, 
who  feel  that  in  a  country  like  the  United  States  they 
could  greatly  better  their  condition,  which  they  have 
no  hope  of  doing  where  they  are.  Said  an  intelligent 
cabman  to  me  at  Warwick:  "I  work  for  twelve  shillings 
a  week.  I  have  eight  children.  I  pay  four  shillings  a 
week  rent  and  six  pence  a  week  taxes.  What  can  I 
do  but  live  from  hand  to  mouth?    My  brother  rents 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  15 

a  farm  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  He  pays  thirty  shill- 
ings an  acre  rent  and  the  taxes.  What  can  he  do  more 
than  barely  live?  If  the  earl's  estate  were  cut  up  into 
eighty  one-hundred-acre  farms  eighty  families  could  live 
on  them  and  save  something  every  year,  but  no  one 
can  get  ahead  when  the  earl  takes  all  the  profits." 

This  is  the  feeling  that  runs  through  the  middle 
classes,  but  it  finds  little  expression.  All  English  lips 
are  shaped  to  sing  "God  save  the  queen."  All  England 
bares  its  head  when  royalty  rides  by.  So  far  as  out- 
ward appearances  go  all  working  Englishmen  are  at 
least  resigned  to  forever  pay  rent  for  the  property  they 
can  never  hope  to  own  and  divide  their  earnings  with 
those  who  never  earn  anything.  Not  only  this,  but 
all  Irishmen,  while  they  spend  most  of  their  time  in 
agitating  against  the  government  that  has  oppressed 
them  for  centuries,  always  respond  promptly  to  its  call 
for  men  and  money.  The  only  explanation  is  that  they 
are  so  used  to  it  that  they  cannot  do  otherwise. 


"No  Mortgage  on  My  House/' 

Letter  to  U.  S.  Government  Relative  to  Inquiries  about  a  Mortgage. 

Manchester,  N.  H.,  December  20,  1891. 
Robert  P.  Porter,  .Superintendent  of  the  Census: 

Dear  Sir: — Your  numerous  epistles  in  which  you 
assert,  repeat,  and  reassert  that  my  house  on  Walnut 
street  is  shingled  with  a  mortgage,  and  demand  to 
know  what  use  I  made  of  the  proceeds,  have  been  duly 
received. 


16     SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

I  have  treated  them  as  I  do  all  letters  from  harm- 
less cranks,  who  insist  on  thrusting  their  pet  illusions 
under  people's  noses, — put  them  in  the  waste  basket,  for 
really  I  had  supposed  you  had  either  been  bitten  by 
Jerry  Simpson  or  Senator  Puffer  or  gone  mad  on  the 
mortgage  question,  or  that  your  communications  were 
mere  pleasantries  or  excuses  for  keeping  some  deserving 
maiden  on  the  payroll  of  your  department. 

But  the  blood-red  ink  in  which  you  print  the  law, 
making  it  a  crime  to  neglect  to  answer  the  questions  of 
your  Mightiness,  indicates  that  you  are  not  only  desper- 
ately but  dangerously  in  earnest  in  this  business. 
Hence,  I  answer,  that  I  am  no  anarchist,  and  blood 
red  scares  me — I  have  no  recollection  of  ever  executing 
a  mortgage  of  any  kind.  I  think  there  is  no  person  on 
earth  who  ever  saw  me  sign  one.  I  know  that  none  is 
recorded  in  this  country,  and,  to  the  best  of  my  knowl- 
edge and  belief,  I  own  the  estate  at  99  Walnut  street 
and  all  others  standing  in  my  name  in  fee  simple,  clear 
and  free  from  all  encumbrances. 

Of  course  if  you  say  the  house  is  mortgaged,  it  is 
mortgaged,  but  you  will  see  that  it  was  done  without 
my  knowledge  or  consent.  I  cannot  state  positively 
what  was  done  with  the  money.  If  Steve  Elkins  did  it 
he  probably  gave  the  proceeds  to  Russell  Harrison.  If  it 
was  Bill  Chandler  you  can  bet  he  invested  them  in 
Boston  &  Maine  stock;  and,  if  it  was  ex-Senator  Blair, 
I  advise  you  to  search  the  pockets  of  Susan  B.  Anthony, 
or  Mrs.  Scott  Mills  of  Texas  may  have  squandered  it 
on  plasters  for  his  wounds.  But  that  is  your  business 
not  mine. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  17 

I  am  no  census  bureau  and  the  law  sends  no  man  to 
jail  for  refusing  to  answer  my  questions.  When  you 
have  hunted  the  rascal  down,  please  write  me,  and  if 
any  of  the  money  is  found  on  his  person  send  a  check 
for  the  amount. 

Congratulating  you  upon  your  zeal  and  efficiency  in 
investigating  the  mortgage  indebtedness  of  the  country, 
especially  that  which  is  purely  fictitious,  I  am 

Yours  truly, 
HENRY  M.  PUTNEY. 


The  Booker  Washington  Dinner. 

The  South,  the  reconstructed,  pacified,  regenerated 
New  South,  the  South  in  which  "face-the-future"  Re- 
publicans have  proposed  to  build  up  a  great  and  domi- 
nant party  of  their  own  by  turning  down  all  those  who 
have  sympathized  and  acted  with  them  in  the  past  and 
distributing  the  federal  offices  among  Democratic  sore- 
heads, place  hunters,  and  renegades,  is  in  a  state  of 
mind  bordering  on  insanity  because  Theodore  Roose- 
velt, President  of  the  United  States  (in  spite  of  the 
votes  of  the  aforesaid  South),  has  had  at  dinner  a  col- 
ored man. 

Booker  T.  Washington  is  easily  first  among  the  eight 
million  colored  citizens  of  this  country,  and  is  every- 
where recognized  as  the  wisest,  most  competent,  and 
most  devoted  of  their  leaders.  In  intellectual  ability, 
in  private  character,  in  gentlemanly  bearing,  he  is  the 
peer  of  any  man  in  the  South.     He  is  the  head  of  an 


18  SELECTIOXS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

educational  institution  which  is  doing  more  for  the 
South  as  a  whole  than  any  other  man  that  lives.  His 
name  is  honored  and  he  is  respected  wherever  high- 
minded,  devoted  and  successful  teachers  are  held  in 
esteem. 

But  he  has  a  black  skin,  and  for  this  reason,  and  this 
only,  his  presence  by  invitation  at  the  President's  table 
is  taken  as  an  insult  by  every  swaggering  white  ruffian 
and  rascal  and  bulldozer  and  ballot-box  stuffer  among 
the  southern  "gentlemen  of  family,  wealth,  and  cul- 
ture." These  gentry  are  not  going  to  secede  any  more. 
They  had  enough  of  that  in  the  sixties.  They  are  not 
going  to  refuse  any  offices  they  can  reach.  They  never 
had  and  never  will  have  office  enough.  But  they  are 
not  going  to  love  Roosevelt  hereafter.  He  has  wounded 
their  "sacred  honah,"  and  they  want  it  understood  that 
they  resent  it.  Their  newspapers  denounce  him.  They 
hiss  him  in  their  theaters  and  hang  him  in  effigy  on 
their  streets.  All  his  honeyed  phrases  about  the  sunny 
land  where  his  mother  was  born  sour  in  their  hearts. 
All  the  taffy  he  has  scattered  among  them  turns  to 
ragweed  in  their  mouth.  Unless  they  are  mightily 
mistaken  "he  has  made  it  impossible  to  build  up  a  re- 
spectable white  man's  party  in  the  South,  and  destroyed 
all  of  the  splendid  work  of  reconciliation  that  he  accom- 
plished in  the  first  month  of  his  administration"  by 
breaking  bread  with  a  negro. 


HENRY  MABCU8  PUTNEY.  19 


A  Loved  and  Trusted  President. 

The  (attempted)  assassination  of  President  McKinley 
has  revealed  to  the  American  people  the  depth  and  in- 
tensity of  their  affection  and  respect  for  him.  That 
they  held  him  in  high  regard  they  knew,  and  had  shown 
by  re-electing  him  to  the  chief  magistracy  of  the  nation; 
but  how  much  they  all  loved  him,  how  implicitly  they 
trusted  him,  how  much  they  valued  him,  they  were  not 
fully  aware  until  they  found  themselves  overwhelmed 
and  appalled  by  the  announcement  that  an  assassin  had 
robbed  them  of  him.  Then,  as  members  of  a  family 
when  the  head  and  chief  support  and  best  beloved  is 
stricken  down,  they  one  and  all  were  prostrated  by  a 
sense  of  personal  bereavement  and  irreparable  loss, 
which  told  them  how  dear  he  was  to  them  and  how 
much  they  depended  upon  him. 

There  have  been  other  great  and  good  presidents,  two 
of  whom  were  crowned  with  martyrdom,  and  they  have 
commanded  respect  and  admiration,  not  only  because 
they  were  the  chosen  chiefs  of  the  republic  and  the  rep- 
resentatives of  its  dignity,  power,  and  purposes,  but  be- 
cause they  were  capable,  faithful,  patriotic,  pure  and 
successful  in  the  administration  of  their  office;  but  on 
the  whole  list  there  is  not  another  who  so  endeared  him- 
self to  all  sections  and  parties  and  classes  and  sects. 
Washington  was  hailed  as  first  in  war,  first  in  peace  and 
first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  by  those  who  fol- 


20  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

lowed  and  supported  him,  and  Lincoln  was  idolized  by 
his  party,  but  both  were  bitterly  antagonized  and  as- 
sailed by  implacable  opponents  whose  enmity  never 
rested  while  they  lived  and  who  refused  them  any  but 
the  tribute  of  surly  silence  after  they  were  dead. 
Adams  and  Jefferson  and  Jackson  and  Grant  and  Harri- 
son were  admired  and  trusted,  but  against  them  all  rolled 
constantly  a  strong  tide  of  hostility,  which  grew  in  vol- 
ume and  force  instead  of  diminishing  all  the  time  they 
were  in  office. 

McKinley  can  almost  be  said  to  have  disarmed  oppo- 
sition. With  marvelous  tact  and  wisdom  he  had  created 
a  universal  feeling  among  seventy-six  millions  of  people 
that  he  was  their  President,  interested  in  the  welfare 
of  each  and  every  one  of  them  and  thoroughly  devoted 
to  the  promotion  of  their  happiness.  He  had  united 
the  North  and  the  South.  He  had  harmonized  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  East  and  the  West.  He  had  well- 
nigh  eliminated  divisions  between  Democrats  and  Re- 
publicans so  far  as  their  estimate  of  him  was  concerned. 
He  had  brought  together  the  factions  of  his  own  party. 
He  had  conquered  the  prejudices  of  those  who  had  op- 
posed his  nomination  and  made  them  his  most  zealous 
supporters.  He  had  made  friends  of  all  with  whom  he 
had  come  in  contact.  And  he  had  done  it  all  without 
sacrificing  a  principle,  without  abandoning  a  policy, 
without  deserting  a  friend,  without  deceiving  anyone. 

His  simplicity  and  frankness  and  kindness  charmed 
the  people.  The  purity  of  his  private  life  and  his  devo- 
tion to  his  aged  mother  and  invalid  wife  made  his  name 
a  household  word  in  every  home.     His  sleepless  and 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  21 

stalwart  Americanism  stirred  the  national  pride  and 
patriotism.  His  sagacity  and  skill  in  managing  men 
appealed  successfully  to  the  admiration  of  all  who  ad- 
mire mastery.  His  whole  personality  made  him  the 
man  who  all  Americans  felt  was  a  type  of  the  best,  and 
enthroned  him  in  their  hearts. 

With  abounding  love  for  the  man  went  implicit  trust 
in  the  President.  Public  confidence  rested  in  him.  His 
death  would  not  mean  a  change  of  government  policy 
or  the  delivery  of  government  machinery  into  weak 
hands.  It  would  not  threaten  the  integrity  or  the  power 
of  the  nation.  It  would  not  even  portend  a  change  of 
administration.  But  all  business  staggers  under  the 
blow  the  assassin  struck.  "We  were  safe  with  McKin- 
ley.  We  knew  whatever  he  did  would  be  right.  With 
another  we  do  not  know.  Losing  him  we  only  know 
that  another  cannot  fill  his  place"  is  the  feeling  that 
pervades  all  circles,  and,  however  much  all  may  comfort 
themselves  with  the  thought  that  "God  reigns  and  the 
government  at  Washington  still  lives,"  and  congratulate 
themselves  that  McKinley  had  done  his  work  so  well 
that  it  will  be  easy  for  his  successor  to  follow  in  his 
footsteps,  there  are  none  who  do  not  realize  that  he  can- 
not be  spared.  Judgment  and  the  instinct  of  self-pres- 
ervation unite  with  love  and  sympathy  in  reverential 
tribute  to  the  man  whose  life  hangs  in  the  balance  at 
Buffalo. 


22  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 


The  President  is  Dead. 

The  President  is  dead.  No  words  can  add  to  the  force 
of  this  terrible  announcement  or  give  expression  to  the 
grief  it  causes  or  add  to  the  heartfelt  tribute  a  stricken 
nation  pays  to  him  who  has  fallen  by  the  hand  of  the 
assassin.  In  every  American  home  the  story  of  his 
pure,  brave,  serene,  useful,  inspiring  life  is  known.  In 
every  American  heart  his  memory  is  enshrined.  How 
we  all  loved  him,  admired  him,  and  leaned  upon  him 
we  know  now,  but  it  cannot  be  told.  In  sorrow  and 
apprehension,  in  silence  and  tears,  his  people,  who  are 
all  the  people  that  love  liberty  and  admire  human  great- 
ness and  goodness,  wait  while  he  is  reverently  and  ten- 
derly borne  from  the  scene  of  his  martyrdom  back  to  his 
last  resting-place  at  his  Ohio  home,  and  time  has  some- 
what tempered  the  poignancy  of  their  grief,  because 
language  is  powerless  in  the  shadow  of  such  an  awful 
bereavement. 

We  know,  we  think,  we  feel,  we  try  to  reason.  We  can 
talk  to  no  purpose,  at  present,  except  to  say,  "God  reigns 
and  the  government  at  Washington  still  lives." 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  23 


A  National  Funeral, 

The  nation  stopped  to  bury  its  dead.  Sadly  and  rev- 
erently the  American  people,  with  one  accord,  turned 
from  their  usual  occupations  to  pay  tribute  of  affection 
and  respect  to  the  memory  of  their  great  President, 
guide,  and  friend.  From  ocean  to  ocean,  from  the  lakes 
to  the  gulf,  as  never  before,  business  was  suspended  on 
the  day  when  McKinley  was  buried,  and  everywhere 
there  was  display  of  mourning  emblems  and  other  fitting 
testimony  to  the  grief  which  had  overwhelmed  a  great 
country  and  cast  a  deep  shadow  upon  seventy-five  mil- 
lions of  people. 

It  was  a  universal  demonstration  and  it  was  spon- 
taneous, genuine,  and  sincere.  In  it  all  distinctions  of 
party,  religious  creed,  class  conditions,  and  nationality 
disappeared.  It  spoke  for  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
native  and  emigrant.  It  expressed  the  sorrow  of  the 
farm,  the  factory,  the  store,  the  mine,  the  shop,  and  of 
all  the  homes.  Its  significance  lay  in  its  universality 
and  its  sincerity.  It  was  not  official  proclamation  nor 
eloquent  .eulogy  nor  imposing  procession  nor  elaborate 
display  of  mourning  decoration  nor  half-masted  flags 
that  best  voiced  the  sense  of  loss  which  oppressed  the 
United  States,  but  the  demeanor  of  the  plain  people  who 
instinctively  and  almost  unconsciously  contributed  to 
the  solemnity  of  the  day. 


24  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

In  Manchester  as  elsewhere  there  was  fitting  observ- 
ance by  the  authorities,  by  all  who  are  expected  to  speak 
public  sentiment  on  important  occasions,  and  by  all  who 
control  business  enterprises;  but  more  significant  than 
this  was  the  movement  along  our  streets  of  the  unlearned, 
the  poor,  the  almost  unknown,  who  passed  up  and 
down  in  sorrow  and  silence  because  they  were  oppressed 
by  a  sense  of  personal  bereavement  which  they  scarcely 
understood  and  could  not  explain.  We  saw  men,  women 
and  children,  some  of  them  born  in  other  countries  or 
of  foreign  parents  here,  some  of  them  unable  to  read  in 
any  language,  many  of  them  unable  to  read  English, 
some  of  them  with  no  possessions  in  this  country  and 
many  of  them  with  only  hopes  to  sustain  them, — men, 
women,  and  children  who  have  been  told  by  demagogues 
that  their  only  chance  was  in  a  change  of  government 
and  that  for  them  any  change  of  rulers  and  policies 
would  be  for  the  better, — people  with  no  knowledge  of 
our  constitution  and  only  the  vaguest  conception  of  the 
principles  of  our  country,  who  went  back  and  forth  with 
bowed  heads  and  moistened  eyes  and  closed  lips  as  if 
death  had  entered  their  homes  and  taken  from  them 
their  best  friend. 

Without  reading,  without  close  reasoning,  without 
asking  themselves  or  others  why,  they  had  come  to  re- 
gard McKinley  as  a  President  in  whom  was  typified  all 
they  loved  and  reverenced,  and  to  repose  in  him  their 
faith.  They  felt  that  he  was  their  President  and  they 
mourned  him  as  their  dead.  Other  classes  more  fortu- 
nate were  pervaded  by  the  same  feeling  and  it  was  every- 
where revealed  in  decorous,  devout,  individual  observ- 
ances, as  well  as  in  funeral  ceremony. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  25 

If  there  has  been  more  pomp  and  pageantry  when 
monarchs  have  been  borne  to  their  tombs,  there  has 
never  been  in  the  world's  history  a  ruler's  funeral  which 
so  testified  to  a  universal  feeling  that  he  was  great  and 
good  as  was  seen  yesterday  in  the  United  States. 


Remarks  at  Coon  Club. 

Pertinent  Points  in  Locals. 

The  naked  truth  in  locals  is  a  female  to  be  avoided; 
you  can't  go  with  her  without  shocking  your  friends  and 
getting  yourself  into  trouble.  Keep  company  with 
Truth  you  perhaps  may,  but  she  must  be  clothed  with 
concealment  and  fiction  and  fabrications  and  evasions 
that  at  times  her  own  mother  won't  know  from  false- 
hood. Tell  the  truth,  tell  it  fearlessly,  not  always,  not 
generally.  It  won't  do.  At  least  it  won't  do  in  Man- 
chester or  Nashua,  where  people  are  naughty  and  have 
hot  tempers,  and  I  have  my  doubts  about  it  even  in  Con- 
cord. But  if  we  must  speak  nothing  but  good  of  the 
dead,  if  we  must  tell  white  lies  about  the  living,  we 
can  at  least  avoid  doing  it  for  money  or  doing  it  mali- 
ciously. 

Something  is  due  to  the  sensibilities,  the  vanity,  the 
blindness,  the  ambition,  the  itch  for  notoriety,  and  the 
other  weaknesses  of  our  patrons,  but  the  reporter  who 
will  misstate  or  conceal  a  fact  for  pay  should  be  kicked 
out  of  the  profession,  and  he  who  does  it  out  of  spite 
with  a  purpose  to  injure,  annoy  or  exasperate  people 
will  be  very  sure  to  be  without  occupation,  for  the  paper 


26  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

on  which  he  works  is  bound  to  go  to  the  wall  unless  it 
discharges  him. 

A  newspaper  is  a  business  institution  as  much  as  a 
cotton  mill  or  shoe  shop.  It  may  be,  and  often  is, 
started  to  air  the  pet  notions,  avenge  the  pet  grievances 
or  promote  the  pet  ambitions  of  somebody  who  imagines 
that  the  world  is  waiting  to  catch  the  same  kind  of  itch 
that  he  has,  but  it  does  not  last  long  on  that  basis.  It 
has  to  get  on  to  a  broader  platform  or  its  remains  are 
carried  off  by  the  sheriff.  As  a  rule  nobody  cares  what 
an  editor  or  reporter  thinks  about  one  thing  or  another, 
whether  he  is  sore  in  one  spot  or  another,  or  whether  he 
loves  one  person  or  another. 

All  the  patron  of  a  newspaper  wants  at  the  hands  of 
the  men  who  make  it  is  what  they  know.  What  they 
imagine  or  fancy  or  think  is  of  little  account,  and  so  the 
province  of  the  newspaper  workers  is  to  furnish  facts, 
just  as  a  factory  furnishes  cloth  and  a  shoe  shop  fur- 
nishes shoes  to  customers.  This  is  especially  true  of 
the  locals,  which  are  the  strength  and  support  of  every 
newspaper  published  in  a  small  place.  They  must  be 
the  truth,  not  necessarily  the  whole  truth,  not  the  naked 
truth,  but  they  must  be  filled  with  facts,  veneered  if  you 
like  with  flattery,  and  ornamented,  if  you  can,  with  wit 
and  humor,  but  never  distorted  by  spleen  or  venality, 
or  made  offensive  by  spite,  or  rendered  silly  by  smartness. 
There  is  no  profession  in  which  uniform  good  nature, 
freedom  from  prejudice  and  ability  to  meet  and  treat 
everybody  as  a  friend  counts  for  more  than  in  local 
reporting,  and  none  in  which  mere  smarties  who  say 
sharp  things  for  the  sake  of  saying  them  are  more  out  of 
place. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  27 

It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  public  knowledge  and 
public  opinion  are  great  correctives  in  locals  in  a  place 
which  is  not  so  large  that  its  citizens  are  mostly  strang- 
ers to  each  other.  You  may  lie  about  far-away  folks  and 
be  believed,  but  when  you  attempt  to  misrepresent  those 
in  your  own  neighborhood  you  deceive  nobody.  If  you 
write  up  the  late  Mr.  Percent  as  a  profuse,  generous, 
openhanded  man,  when  he  was  an  old  skinflint,  it  cheats 
nobody.  If  you  plaster  Old  Pecksniff  all  over  with  taffy 
and  describe  him  as  an  honorable,  high-minded  gentle- 
man, you  don't  fool  people  about  him;  and  if  you  de- 
scribe some  Jezebel  as  an  angel  of  sweetness  and  light, 
you  do  not  set  people  to  looking  to  see  her  wings  grow. 
All  this  the  public  discounts  and  gets  down  to  the  real 
facts  and  then  concludes  that  you  are  either  an  ignora- 
mus or  were  paid  to  say  ridiculous  things.  So,  too,  when 
you  say  mean  things  that  are  not  true.  A  man  passes 
in  his  own  neighborhood  and  own  town  for  about  what 
he  is  worth,  and  a  reporter  who  attempts  to  write  him 
down  may  annoy  him  and  gratify  his  enemies,  but  he 
does  not  really  change  the  public  estimate  of  him. 
Hence  it  follows  that  extravagance  in  compliments  and 
certain  concealments  in  the  same  line  are  harmless;  that 
the  rich  clothing  you  hang  upon  Truth  pleases  her  and 
keeps  her  warm  and  hurts  nobody  else.  Hence,  too,  it 
follows,  the  spiteful  slander,  while  it  exasperates  and 
stings  the  one  at  whom  it  is  aimed,  does  not  really  dam- 
age him  and  injures  only  the  reporter  and  the  publisher. 

Tell  the  truth.  Tell  it  pleasantly.  Tell  it  profusely. 
Tell  it  as  you  would  be  willing  to  have  it  told  if  you  were 
the  other  party. 


28  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

Goods  must  be  put  up  in  attractive  styles  or  they 
will  not  sell.  So  of  locals.  It  is  not  enough  that  the 
truth  be  there,  and  that  it  is  not  naked,  but  it  must  be 
set  in  colors  that  please  and  in  shapes  that  will  not 
offend. 


Letter  to  the  Coon  Club. 

Paris,  June  30,  1900. 
C.  S.  Bussell,  Secretary  Coon  Club: 

My  Dear  Bussell: — I  have  your  note  asking  for  a 
letter  to  be  read  at  the  semiannual  outing  of  the  Coon 
Club,  July  14.  In  reply:  I  swore  off  writing  when  I  left 
New  Hampshire,  thinking  that  after  twenty-eight  years 
of  infliction  my  friends  and  fellow  craftsmen  deserved  a 
rest  from  my  composition;  and  even  if  I  were  inclined  to 
break  that  pledge  I  am  too  busy  to  do  it,  for  my  time  is 
completely  filled  with  official  work  and  dancing  attend- 
ance upon  social  functions,  of  which  we  are  called  to  an 
•average  of  at  least  three  every  twenty-four  hours. 

I  can  only  suggest  that  if  the  Coons  will  locate  their 
next  outing  in  Paris  it  will  be  greatly  to  their  advantage 
and  that  of  the  city  for  these  reasons  among  others: 

The  coon  is  a  nocturnal  animal  and  this  is  a  nocturnal 
burg.  Nobody  does  anything  by  day — everybody  does 
everything  by  night  and  no  questions  asked. 

The  ladies  of  the  town  are  wondrously  beautiful, 
marvelously  arrayed,  and  agreeable  beyond  comparison. 
Cab  fares  are  cheap. 

No  water  is  used  as  a  beverage.  The  tobacco  is  so 
vile  that  it  is  only  smoked  in  cigarette  form.     Every- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  29 

thing  is  open  to  reporters.  The  newspapers  are  small, 
cheap,  and  weak,  and  sadly  in  need  of  an  example  of 
New  Hampshire  hustle  and  hold  on.     Come  over. 

I  am  going  to  Switzerland  next  week,  to  return  later, 
and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  that  is  fit  to  print.  Mean- 
time, give  my  kind  regards  to  the  boys  and  thank  them 
for  remembering  me. 

Yours  truly, 

H.  M.  PUTNEY. 


"The  Portsmouth  Curfew/' 

There  is  no  more  quiet,  respectable,  and  conservative 
city  on  the  American  continent  than  Portsmouth.  Tom 
Whipple  insists  that  in  these  respects  it  is  entitled  to 
rank  with  Ninevah,  Babylon,  and  others  of  the  same 
class  that  foreign  scholars  and  savants  are  always  ex- 
ploring and  bragging  about;  but,  be  that  as  it  may, 
there  is  no  municipal  territory  this  side  the  ocean  better 
fitted  to  be  the  abiding-place  of  a  man  who  hates  a 
racket,  is  proud  of  his  ancestors,  and  has  a  steady  in- 
come from  permanent  investments.  Time  was  when 
they  built  ships  and  bought  and  sold  rum,  soap,  and 
other  groceries  at  Portsmouth;  when  there  were  greasy 
mechanics  on  her  streets,  and  women  in  calico  gowns  in 
her  houses,  and  dirty-faced  children  in  her  yards;  but 
this  has  gone  by.  She  retired  from  business  long  ago, 
and  for  years  she  has  tolerated  nothing  that  looked  like 
a  vulgar  scramble  for  money  within  her  borders.  Her 
last  factory,  which  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  nuisance 


30  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

by  her  best  people,  was  burned  down  soon  after  the  war, 
and  the  one  man  who  was  reckless  enough  to  propose 
that  it  be  rebuilt  was  driven  away  by  the  indignant  cit- 
izens. She  has  farmed  out  her  politics  to  several  dis- 
creet dealers  who  manage  them  without  making  a  noise, 
and  she  has  her  blacksmithing  done  at  Kittery,  where 
the  sound  of  the  anvil  will  not  disturb  her  reveries. 
Her  sidewalks  are  of  good,  old-fashioned  brick,  and  her 
houses  are  all  supplied  with  brass  knockers  and  and- 
irons.    Her  citizens  live  on  their  incomes  and  venerate 

kneebreech.es.  To  such  a  people  old  customs  are,  of 
course,  inexpressibly  dear,  and  any  attempt  to  set  them 
aside,  or  modify  them,  after  the  fashion  of  the  jostling 
world  outside,  is  looked  upon  as  little  better  than  rob- 
bing a  family  tomb  of  your  grandfather's  bones.  One 
of  these  customs  sets  all  the  bells  in  town  to  tolling 
when  a  resident  dies,  and  another  one  rings  the  one  on 
the  town  house  for  fifteen  minutes  every  evening,  be- 
ginning at  nine  o'clock,  at  which  time  all  respectable 
candles  go  out,  and  all  the  first  families  go  to  bed.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  these  were  instituted  before  the 
oldest  newspaper  in  America  was  published,  or  the  first 
clock  or  watch  was  invented,  but  they  have  been  sacred- 
ly kept  up  ever  since.  At  least  they  were  religiously 
observed  until  about  a  month  ago,  when  Alderman  Wil- 
liam Martyn,  a  carpet-bag  sort  of  a  scoffer  at  graveyard 
mould  and  your  great-grandfather's  snuff-box,  got  into 
his  head  the  notion  that  if  a  man  died  his  neighbors 
would  find  it  out  from  the  newspapers  and  bury  him, 
and  that  when  folks  began  to  grow  sleepy,  they  would 
consult  their  timepieces  and  ascertain  whether  it  was 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  31 

bedtime  without  wearing  out  the  bells  and  the  bellman 
in  furnishing  the  information.  Little  that  alderman 
knows  about  Portsmouth  newspapers  or  Portsmouth 
people;  but  he  had  a  presentiment  that  there  would  be 
trouble  if  he  acted  directly  upon  this  idea,  and  he  ac- 
cordingly attempted  to  fool  the  ancients  by  getting  up 
in  a  meeting  of  the  board  and  saying  that  he  knew  of 
a  man  who  was  sick  and  who  was  annoyed  by  this  bell 
business,  and  because  of  this  he  moved  that  the  mayor 
be  instructed  to  have  the  tolling  and  the  ringing  dis- 
pensed with.  The  motion  passed,  and  the  next  night 
there  was  no  nine-o'clock  bell.  The  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  matrons  who  for  eighty-nine  years  have 
warmed  their  nightgowns  from  fifteen  minutes  before 
nine  until  the  bell  struck  stood  through  the  livelong 
night  holding  them  up  to  the  grates,  and  were  found 
there  benumbed  and  stiff  the  next  morning  by  the  milk- 
men from  Eye.  Six  first  settlers,  in  wigs  and  gold- 
headed  canes,  who  have  always  taken  an  evening  walk, 
leaving  their  houses  at  8.40  and  traveling  south  by  the 
cemetery  until  the  bell  warned  them  to  return,  kept  on 
and  on  and  on  their  weary  way  until  they  were  taken  up 
a  week  later  by  the  police  of  Boston.  Sixteen  sets  of 
philosophers,  who  have  met  and  played  whist  and  drank 
punch  until  the  curfew,  every  evening  since  Washington 
was  inaugurated,  kept  at  it  until  they  fell  under  the 
tables.  No  stores  were  closed,  no  houses  were  locked, 
no  shutters  were  put  up  that  night.  In  short,  from  the 
time  when  the  bell  should  have  rung  until  morning, 
Portsmouth  yawned  and  stretched  and  waited  and  said, 
"What  a  long  evening  this  is!"  and  so  it  sat  and  yawned 


32  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

and  waited  night  after  night  and  day  after  day  until 
last  week,  when  a  stray  copy  of  the  Boston  Herald  was 
picked  up  in  the  street,  and  found  to  contain  the  hor- 
rible intelligence  that  the  aldermen  had  stopped  the 
curfew.  Then  there  was  such  an  outburst  of  indigna- 
tion as  has  not  been  seen  since  congress  proposed  to 
abolish  the  navy  yard;  not  a  noisy  outbreak,  of  cour.-o, 
but  a  deep,  eminently  respectable,  solemn  sort  of  a  pro- 
test. Meantime  the  aldermen,  having  come  to  the  real- 
izing sense  of  the  enormity  of  the  crime,  had  fled  the 
city.  Bill  Martyn,  the  arch-contriver  of  the  innovation, 
was  held  in  the  storehouse  of  Ward's  distillery;  Hackett 
had  taken  refuge  behind  the  guns  of  Fort  Constitution, 
and  all  the  others  were  likewise  missing,  so  the  order 
could  not  be  rescinded.  One  expedient  remained.  The 
church  wardens,  of  whom  ex-Mayor  Sise  is  chief,  made 
the  necessary  arrangements  to  have  the  bells  on  all  the 
churches  rung  every  night  at  nine  o'clock,  and  when- 
ever a  man  dies.  And  now  Portsmouth  goes  decently  to 
bed  at  that  hour  and  sleeps  the  sleep  of  the  just  until 
morning.  Order  is  restored,  and  all  is  quiet  upon  the 
Piscataqua,  but  Bill  Martyn  is  a  doomed  man. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  33 


Old  Home  Week. 

Old  Home  Week  has  made  a  record  for  itself  in  New 
Hampshire  and  fitted  into  a  place  in  our  yearly  pro- 
gram from  which  it  will  never  be  ousted.  Its  first  an- 
nouncement, little  more  than  two  years  ago,  created  but 
little  interest.  But  it  was  so  persistently  and  enthusi- 
astically championed  by  its  originator  and  those  who 
entered  into  the  promotion  of  it,  and  had  so  much  real 
merit  in  it,  that  it  scored  about  forty  observances  the 
first  year,  nearly  twice  that  number  last  year,  and  its 
promoters  hope  to  record  one  hundred  meetings  this 
year.  It  drops  into  place  so  easily  and  naturally  that 
it  is  strange  it  was  n't  suggested  and  adopted  before. 

The  enjoyment  of  an  Old  Home  Week  gathering  con- 
sists in  its  simplicity.  It  may  be  all  very  well  to  have 
street  parades,  bands  of  music  and  feasts  that  cost  con- 
siderable money  and  tire  out  all  the  women  in  town  in 
preparation,  but  such  are  not  typical  meetings.  The 
genuine  Old  Home  Week  meeting  is  held  in  a  grove  in 
the  basket  picnic  style,  each  family  providing  enough 
food  for  itself  and  a  few  others  who  may  come  from 
out  of  town.  Impromptu  speeches  by  former  residents 
and  by  the  old  residents,  with  singing  and  social  greet- 
ings, are  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  true  idea  of  the  occa- 
sion and  do  not  cost  much  money  or  tire  anyone  to 
death.  Of  course  much  thought  and  care  must  be  given 
to  making  a  list  of  former  residents  and  to  sending  them 


34  BELECTIOXS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

invitations  to  come  home  to  the  meeting.  We  are  led 
to  make  these  simple  suggestions  from  noticing  the 
labored  effort  made  in  some  places  trying  to  get  the 
movement  started,  and  the  hesitancy  in  other  places 
about  starting  at  all  from  a  mistaken  idea  of  the  ex- 
pense and  effort  necessary. 

What  wonderful  possibilities  for  conferring  inesti- 
mable blessings  upon  a  vast  number  of  people  there  are 
in  this  movement!  We  cannot  imagine  the  feelings  that 
are  stirred  in  the  breast  of  the  New  Hampshire  boy  in 
the  far  West  or  elsewhere  when  he  receives  the  little 
note  from  his  native  town  inviting  him  to  its  Old  Home 
Week  meeting.  The  old  schoolhouse  where  he  sat  when 
a  boy,  the  stream  where  he  fished,  the  pond  where  he 
swam,  the  brambly  pasture  where  he  went  for  the  cows 
at  night  as  a  barefoot  boy  come  vividly  to  mind,  and 
he  thinks  of  the  loved  ones  of  his  boyhood  days,  tears 
roll  down  his  face,  and  he  is  moved  as  perhaps  he  has 
not  been  for  years.  That  invitation  has  been  worth  all 
it  cost  whether  it  is  accepted  or  not.  Think  of  the  tens 
of  thousands  of  such  invitations  that  go  out  of  New 
Hampshire  every  year  and  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  home  that  they  arouse,  and  it  is  possible  to  get  a 
faint  idea  of  the  extent  and  inestimable  value  of  the 
Old  Home  Week  movement  among  those  who  do  not 
return. 

But  thousands  do  return  and  participate  in  Old  Home 
Week  exercises  every  year  and  count  it  time  and  money 
well  expended.  It  does  them  good  and  does  us  good. 
It  keeps  alive  and  glowing  their  love  for  the  old  an- 
cestral home  and  makes  us  all  broader  and  wiser  and 


HENRY  MARCOS  PUTNEY.  35 

happier  for  it.  They  want  to  come  year  after  year  and 
we  want  to  have  them,  and  every  town  that  observes 
the  event  in  a  sensible  way  once  will  be  more  interested 
in  the  second  gathering  and  will  make  it  a  permanent 
annual  affair,  as  it  should  be  made.  Old  Home  Week 
in  New  Hampshire  has  been  definitely  fixed  to  com- 
mence every  year  upon  the  third  Saturday  in  August, 
which  is  the  seventeenth  this  year.  Don't  forget  the 
bonfires  upon  the  hilltops  on  the  evening  of  the  first 
day  to  flash  from  hill  to  hill  the  great  joy  of  the  return 
of  so  many  absent  sons  and  daughters,  and  the  clergy- 
men should  not  forget  appropriate  services  on  the 
Sabbath  as  a  token  of  respect  to  returning  friends. 
The  committees  should  be  appointed  and  invitations 
prepared  and  sent  in  ample  season  to  allow  all  to  ar- 
range to  come  home. 

Let  us  make  it  the  gala  week  of  the  whole  year  and 
begin  now  to  prepare  to  keep  open  house  for  Old  Home 
Week  friends.  We  shall  miss  some  that  were  with  us 
last  year  and  the  year  before,  but  our  tears  will  be 
mingled  with  joy  that  they  came  home  that  last  time, 
which  perhaps  they  would  not  have  done  had  it  not 
been  for  Old  Home  Week.  It  will  do  us  all  good  to 
take  time  from  this  active,  bustling  way  of  living  to  meet 
and  greet  the  friends  of  our  boyhood  days  upon  every 
Old  Home  Week  occasion  that  occurs. 


36  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 


Address  at  Dunbarton  Old  Home  Day. 

If  I  rightly  conceive  the  true  spirit  of  the  Old  Home 
Week  it  is  of  a  reminiscent  character,  and  our  gather- 
ing is  one  in  which  the  past  may  properly  be  recalled, — 
an  experience  meeting  in  which  some  personal  ob- 
servations are  at  least  allowable.  What  little  I  say  will 
be  shaped  with  this  idea. 

Since  I  left  the  old  town  I  have  floated  with  the  tide, 
and  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  it,  for  it  has  carried 
me  into  pleasant  places  and  among  agreeable  people. 
Destiny  and  I  have  never  had  any  trouble.  I  have  seen 
at  their  best  the  states  of  the  Union  east  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  I  have  enjoyed  the  companionship  of 
men  and  women  who  have  been  good  to  me  and  helped 
me  to  a  fair  measure  of  success  and  an  enjoyable  exist- 
ence. But  I  have  nowhere  found  greener  fields  and 
pastures,  more  fascinating  forests,  more  limpid  brooks, 
more  melodious  birds,  clearer  skies,  or  more  gorgeous 
sunsets  than  here.  As  to  the  sunrises,  they  were  too 
soon  for  me  in  those  halcyon  days,  and  I  can  make  no 
comparison. 

In  forty  years  I  have  seen  no  sweeter  girls  than  those 
I  courted  by  the  light  of  the  Dunbarton  moon,  and  no 
brighter  boys  than  those  for  whom  the  girls  mittened 
me,  and  I  know  that  from  Canada  to  the  Gulf  coast 
there  has  not  been  assembled  in  one  school  a  group  of 
etudents  more  hungry  for  knowledge,  more  faithful  in 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  37 

seeking  it,  or  more  capable  of  securing  it  than  the  sixty 
who  taught  me  how  little  I  had  learned  in  college  and 
drove  me  constantly  to  midnight  study  in  a  vain  effort 
to  keep  ahead  of  them  in  their  books,  and  otherwise 
avoid  exhibiting  my  ignorance  in  the  old  academy  three 
decades  ago.  Education,  we  are  told,  has  been  greatly 
improved  since  then.  We  know  its  expense  has  greatly 
expanded.  Students  are  now  accomplished.  They  can 
fiddle  and  sing  and  paint  beanpots  and  mold  clay  into 
images  of  the  teacher,  and  march  and  countermarch, 
and  posture  and  pose,  and  bestride  a  "bike"  with  in- 
finite grace,  but  for  solid  basic  educational  development 
calculated  to  help  win  bread  and  butter  and  make  people 
good  for  something  besides  ornaments,  I  will  match 
the  record  of  my  high  school  and  its  lyceum  annex 
against  that  of  any  and  all  that  can  be  brought  by  your 
latter-day  professors  of  progress. 

The  mature  men  and  women  who  tilled  the  farms 
and  presided  over  the  homesteads  of  Dunbarton  in  my 
boyhood  have  always  been  my  ideals.  In  them  was  typi- 
fied all  that  was  great,  grand,  strong,  ennobling,  and 
productive  in  the  old  Puritan,  without  his  bigotry,  nar- 
rowness, and  intolerance.  Their  inborn  honesty,  which 
was  proof  against  all  temptation;  their  intelligence  and 
physical  strength,  which  were  always  masterful;  their  in- 
dustry, which  was  untiring;  their  conscientious  devotion 
to  duty,  which  never  slept  and  never  wearied;  their  thrift 
and  frugality,  which  never  failed,  and  their  fecundity, 
which  made  them  the  parents  of  great  families  of  robust, 
reliant,  resolute  children;  their  perfect  loyalty  to  their 
God,  their  country,   their  neighbors,   and   themselves, 


453454 


38  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

were  the  characteristics  of  a  yeomanry  which  it  seems 
to  me  I  have  never  seen  elsewhere. 

I  am  proud  of  old  Dunbarton;  I  like  to  sound  her 
praises.  I  like  to  tell  people,  who  talk  about  the  great- 
ness and  glory  of  other  places,  of  a  town  whose  people 
were  so  peaceable  and  sensible  that  no  lawyer  could  live 
among  them,  and  so  healthy  that  all  doctors  gave  it  a 
wide  berth;  whose  clergymen  were  not  so  anxious  to 
give  the  devil  a  chance  that  they  took  all-summer  vaca- 
tions, and  whose  teachers  were  not  literary  dudes,  but 
hard-working,  practical  instructors,  trainers,  and  guides; 
whose  boards  of  selectmen  contained  more  brains  and 
conscience  than  a  half  dozen  average  city  governments, 
and  whose  annual  town  meetings  were  perfect  illustra- 
tions of  the  spirit  of  a  pure  democracy;  of  a  town  in 
which  religion  was  in  evidence  seven  days  in  the  week; 
and  all  were  so  observant  of  Christian  proprieties  that 
they  not  only  supported  the  minister  by  contributions 
but  by  attendance  on  divine  worship,  and  so  sensible  of 
the  value  of  an  education  that  no  sacrifice  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  common  schools  was  deemed  too  great;  of  a 
town  in  which  for  half  a  century  there  was  neither 
lawyer,  doctor,  demagogue,  nor  professional  politician, 
neither  factory,  railroad,  hotel,  saloon,  nor  store,  except 
the  postoffice;  of  an  exclusively  farming  population 
whose  well-directed  energy  enabled  its  members  to  live 
well,  enjoy  the  good  things  of  life,  educate  their  chil- 
dren, acquire  in  most  cases  a  competency,  and  so  nearly 
abolish  poverty  that  their  almshouse  was  for  a  long 
series  of  years  without  an  inmate;  of  a  town  which  to 
my  mind  was  a  veritable  rural  Utopia. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  39 

Those  of  us  who  have  gone  out  from  Dunharton  and 
whose  interests  are  largely  in  other  places  have  good 
reason  to  remember  fondly  and  gratefully  the  town,  for 
it  is  the  source  from  which  have  been  drawn  in  steady 
volume  the  brain  and  brawn  that  have  created  and  pre- 
served the  communities  in  which  we  live  and  the  busi- 
ness in  which  we  are  engaged.  This  is  especially  true 
of  the  Manchester  colony. 

Our  greatest  student  and  most  accomplished  scholar, 
our  ablest  financier  and  most  distinguished  public  man, 
who  rose  step  by  step  to  the  highest  honors  the  state 
could  give, — the  Hon.  Moody  Currier;  our  most  gifted 
orator  and  most  successful  lawyer,  who  with  your  help 
we  propose  to  send  to  the  United  States  senate  next 
year, — the  Hon.  Henry  E.  Burnham;  our  eminently 
competent  and  faithful  superintendent  of  the  Industrial 
School  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  and  member  of  the 
governor's  council, — the  Hon.  John  C.  Ray;  and  others 
who  have  been  active  in  our  manufacturing,  our  build- 
ing, and  our  trade,  and  in  our  professional,  political, 
social,  and  religious  life,  were  all  at  some  time  identified 
with  the  history  of  Dunbarton.  And  there  are  no  black 
sheep  in  the  flock;  few  of  us  are  great,  but  we  are  all 
good;  few  of  us  have  grown  rich,  but  none  of  us  are  pau- 
pers; few  of  us  are  famous,  but  none  are  infamous. 

Now  my  mission  here  today,  beyond  my  own  gratifica- 
tion, is  to  say  from  the  standpoint  of  a  Manchester  man 
that  it  will  never  do  to  let  the  fountains  from  which  vir- 
tue and  virility  flow  into  the  cities  dry  up,  and  to  ex- 
press my  hope  and  belief  that  in  the  near  future  we 
shall  see  in  Dunbarton  and  other  agricultural  towns 


40  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

favorably  located  a  reaction,  a  return,  a  recovery,  a  reju- 
venation, which  will  make  the  fertile  soil  more  valuable 
than  it  is  now,  which  will  fill  the  old  homesteads  with 
children,  which  will  reinstall  the  comfort,  thrift,  and 
contentment  of  the  old-time  population  and  re-establish 
the  imperialism  of  the  strong,  steady-going,  thorough- 
bred American  farmer,  and  thus  continue  the  supply  of 
new  blood,  which  is  essential  to  save  the  centers  of  popu- 
lation from  decay,  degradation,  and  disappearance. 

I  could  elaborate  this  idea  at  much  length,  but,  mind- 
ful of  the  warning  of  your  chairman  that  any  man  ex- 
cept the  governor  who  attempts  to  talk  more  than  ten 
minutes  will  be  blacklisted  and  not  allowed  to  come  next 
year,  I  merely  throw  it  out  as  a  text  for  the  minister 
some  Sunday  when  he  wants  to  preach  a  practical  ser- 
mon, and,  thanking  you  for  your  reception  and  atten- 
tion, I  make  way  for  others. 


A  Gay  Deceiver. 

November  8,  1879. 
"Once  for  all,  let  him  inform  both  friends  and  enemies 
that  Mr.  Hutchins  no  more  contemplates  a  severance  of 
his  present  relations  with  The  Post  than  suicide.  How 
the  story  originated  he  does  not  know,  but  that  there  is 
not  a  particle  of  truth  in  it  he  knows,  and  here  makes 
proclamation." — Washington  Post. 

Now,  Brother  Hutchins,  this  is  too  bad!  After  com- 
ing to  New  Hampshire  and  coquetting  as  you  did  with 
our  matronly  sister,  The  Union;  after  sitting  up  with 
her  for  several  long  evenings  and  eating  her  doughnuts 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  41 

and  cheese;  after  permitting  it  to  be  publicly  announced 
throughout  the  country  that  you  would  get  a  divorce 
from  the  vinegary  Post,  and  on  the  first  of  November 
come  on  here  and  marry  her;  after  raising  to  a  fabu- 
lous height  the  expectations  of  all  her  family  and  mak- 
ing them  believe  that  she  would  be  taken  off  their  hands 
and  securely  planted  in  the  bosom  of  a  handsome  man 
like  you;  when  the  time  for  fulfilling  your  promises 
arrives  and  the  wedding  cake  has  been  ordered  and  all 
the  uncles  and  nephews  and  cousins  are  aching  for  a 
chance  to  give  her  away,  you  rise  up,  and  in  this  sudden 
and  heartless  manner  declare  the  match  off,  that  you  are 
going  to  stick  to  your  old  love  and  won't  come  to  New 
Hampshire  at  all.  And  not  a  word  of  explanation 
either;  not  a  syllable  to  tell  us  that  since  the  fall  elec- 
tions Tilden  has  concluded  not  to  invest  any  more  of  his 
savings  in  newspapers;  not  a  hint  that  the  national  com- 
mittee, under  the  circumstances,  considers  New  Hamp- 
shire lost  past  redemption,  and  therefore  don't  care  a 
copper  whether  the  party  press  here  is  weak  or  strong; 
but  simply  a.  curt  and  cruel  declaration  that  you  won't 
come.     Why,  what  a  wicked  old  rooster  you  are! 

And  then  you  had  the  impudence  to  write  privately 
to  the  outraged  and  chagrined  lady  and  her  family, 
that,  though  you  could  do  better  than  marry  her,  you 
would  send  a  man.  Send  a  man!  Just  as  if  men  were 
so  scarce  in  Democratic  newspaper  offices  in  New  Hamp- 
shire that  anybody  that  wears  breeches  would  be  accept- 
able. Do  you  think  the  Democratic  party  of  this  state 
is  composed  entirely  of  old  maids  who  will  jump  at  the 
chance  of  embracing  anybody  you  choose  to  send?     Pos- 


42  SELECTIOyS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

eibly,  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  you  think  this  is  a 
huge  joke.  But  have  a  care.  "Hell  hath  no  fury  like 
a  woman  scorned,"  and  our  New  Hampshire  Democratic 
dames,  though  slow  to  anger,  are  savage  as  cats  when 
their  wrath  is  up,  and  they  '11  be  awful  mad  when  they 
find  this  out,  and  they  '11  scratch  you  blind  and  bald- 
headed  if  you  ever  come  this  way  again.  And  they 
ought  to.  Such  a  cold-blooded,  heartless  deceiver  as 
you  have  proved  to  be  should  have  neither  eyes  nor 
hair. 


Memorial  Day. 

Forty  years  have  passed  since  Lincoln  delivered  at 
Gettysburg  that  immortal  tribute  to  the  heroes  of  the 
Union  army,  than  which  nothing  more  sublime  has 
ever  fallen  from  the  lips  of  mortal,  and  during  that  time 
the  nation  they  saved  has  every  year  turned  from  its 
usual  occupations  to  do  them  honor. 

A  new  generation  has  come  upon  the  stage.  Most 
of  the  veterans  have  been  mustered  out  or  retired  from 
active  life  to  wait  the  summons  to  join  their  comrades 
in  the  bivouac  of  the  dead.  Orators  and  poets  and 
other  masters  of  expression,  who  were  able  on  Memo- 
rial Day  to  speak  from  personal  experience  or  observa- 
tion of  the  patriotism  and  valor,  of  the  sufferings  and 
sacrifices  of  that  awful  time,  are  very  few. 

The  War  of  the  Rebellion  long  since  passed  into  his- 
tory. It  is  no  longer  a  recollection  even  to  most  of 
those  who  today  form  the  processions  and  conduct  the 
memorial  exercises. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  43 

And  yet  the  day  was  never  so  generally  observed, 
the  graves  of  the  fallen  were  never  more  reverently 
marked  with  emblems  of  respect  and  gratitude,  the 
literary  features  were  never  more  sincere. 

Far  away  as  they  are  from  their  supreme  struggle 
with  treason,  the  American  people  have  not  permitted 
the  day  set  apart  for  recognition  of  their  saviors  to 
degenerate  into  a  mere  holiday.  And  it  is  to  be  hoped 
they  never  will. 


The  Gties  of  the  Dead. 

The  Philadelphia  Bulletin  says  one  of  the  incidental 
effects  of  the  observance  of  Memorial  Day,  which  will 
survive  long  after  the  last  veteran  of  the  Civil  War  has 
been  laid  in  his  grave,  is  the  universal  practice  of  dec- 
orating the  graves  of  the  dead. 

Perhaps  it  is  somewhat  of  an  exaggeration  to  say 
that  this  custom  is  universal,  but  it  is  undeniably  true 
that  the  Grand  Army  has  by  its  example  brought  about 
a  great  change  for  the  better  in  respect  to  the  care  of 
the  last  resting-places  of  the  dead. 

Fifty  years  ago  some  city  cemeteries  were  decently 
if  not  properly  cared  for  and  were  always  suggestive 
of  the  respect  and  affection  of  the  living  for  their  de- 
parted acquaintances  and  friends.  But  in  the  country 
burial  places  were  as  a  rule  sadly  neglected.  Many  of 
them  were  family  lots  set  apart  upon  the  farms  for 
that  purpose,  as  other  lots  were  used  to  dump  old  junk 
and  other  waste  upon.  Some  of  these  were  enclosed 
with  unsightly  fences,  which  were  seldom  in  good  re- 


44  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

pair,  and  some  were  left  unfenced  so  that  the  cattle  and 
horses  could  keep  down  the  grass  that  grew  upon  them. 
The  town  burying  grounds  were  not  much  better.  They 
were  often  selected  because  the  land  in  them  was  nearly 
worthless.  They  were  fenced  with  whatever  material 
was  cheapest.  They  were  generally  overrun  with  briers 
and  weeds  and  were  without  paths  or  driveways.  The 
stones  that  marked  the  graves  were  often  broken  and 
seldom  upright.  Everything  was  unattractive,  yes,  re- 
pellant,  and  the  term  "boneyard''  came  to  be  naturally 
applied.  Now  and  then  a  few  flowers  could  be  seen 
upon  a  recently  made  grave,  showing  that  someone 
held  in  affectionate  remembrance  the  dead;  but  it  was 
evident  that  the  great  majority  never  visited  these 
graveyards  when  they  were  not  obliged  to. 

All  this  has  gradually  changed.  It  is  still  pos- 
sible to  find  many  country  cemeteries  that  bear  evidence 
of  little  but  neglect  and  forgetfulness,  but  most  of  them 
are  the  objects  of  proper  respect  for  the  departed. 
Most  of  them  are  in  a  general  way  kept  in  fair  condi- 
tion at  the  expense  of  the  towns  in  which  they  are 
located  by  agents  appointed  for  the  purpose,  and  indi- 
viduals of  all  classes  have  been  taught  to  care  for  the 
lots  in  which  their  relatives  and  friends  sleep  their  last 
sleep.  On  Memorial  Day  the  floral  decorations  are  not 
confined  to  soldiers'  graves,  but  are  general,  profuse, 
and  beautiful,  and  this  is  but  the  beginning  of  what 
continues  through  the  summer.  The  cemetery  of  today 
is  no  longer  shrouded  in  gloom  or  peopled  with  ghosts 
and  goblins.  It  is  no  longer  neglected  and  shunned 
by  the  living  because  in  itself  it  is  repulsive.    It  is  em- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  45 

blematical  of  the  love,  the  hope,  the  associations  which 
make  life  worth  living  and  the  remembrances  and  con- 
solations which   keep  the  heart  from  breaking  when 
death  claims  our  kindred  and  others  dear  to  us. 
For  this  we  may  thank  the  Grand  Army. 


Flag  Day,  June   J3,  \90L 

Tomorrow  is  Flag  Day,  and  it  is  fitting  that  every 
loyal  American,  at  home  or  abroad,  should  fling  to  the 
breeze  the  emblem  which  stands  for  all  the  great  re- 
public has  accomplished  during  the  making  of  its  mar- 
velous history,  and  all  it  plans  and  promises  and  ex- 
pects to  accomplish  during  the  radiant  future  which 
it  faces. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  is  the  most  beautiful  flag  that 
floats,  and  it  symbolizes  more  that  is  noble  and  en- 
nobling, more  that  is  cheering  and  encouraging,  than 
any  other.  It  proclaims  not  only  the  triumphs  of  hero- 
ism and  valor  displayed  in  war,  but  the  victories  of 
peace.  It  tells  not  only  of  glory  and  honor,  but  of  ma- 
terial progress  and  prosperity. 

It  is  the  banner  of  a  nation  consecrated  to  liberty;  to 
the  uplifting  of  humanity,  and  to  the  promotion  of  all 
that  makes  the  world  a  good  world  to  live  in.  Throw 
it  to  the  breeze  tomorrow  and  let  it  tell  to  all  its  won- 
drous and  inspiring  story. 


46  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 


The   Glorious   Fourth. 

July  4,  1901. 

The  ever  glorious  Fourth  of  July  was  never  more 
glorious  than  this  year,  for  the  nation  whose  birthday  it 
is  was  never  before  so  strong,  so  prosperous,  so  united, 
and  so  respected.  It  should  be  and  it  will  be  celebrated 
at  home  and  abroad  by  all  who  own  allegiance  to  the 
stars  and  stripes  and  are  at  heart  loyal  to  the  govern- 
ment they  symbolize.  From  the  youth  whose  patriotic 
enthusiasm  finds  expression  in  blaze  and  noise,  to  the 
thoughtful  citizen  and  honest  statesman,  whose  devo- 
tion to  the  principles  upon  which  in  1776  the  fathers 
of  the  republic  founded  the  nation  directs  them  to 
the  study  of  the  immortal  Declaration  of  Independence 
and  the  Constitution.  All  true  Americans  will  observe 
the  day  and  in  such  observance  gather  strength  which, 
in  peace  and  in  war,  as  the  occasion  may  require,  will 
be  at  the  service  of  the  country.  Differ  as  we  may 
as  to  policies  and  as  to  methods,  tomorrow  we  shall 
be  one  as  to  principles,  and  sharers  in  the  glory  and 
greatness  of  the  United  States. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  47 


An   Old-Time  Thanksgiving, 

She  was  fifty-nine  years  old.  She  was  well  propor- 
tioned, erect,  and  comely.  Her  silky  white  hair  lay  in 
waves  above  a  face  that  had  lost  the  flush  of  girlhood, 
but  had  never  been  furrowed  by  remorse  or  deep  re- 
grets, and  was  rich  in  the  expression  of  kindness,  se- 
renity, and  intellectual  strength.  She  was  mistress  of 
the  New  Hampshire  home  to  which  her  husband  took 
her  when  he  married  her  forty  years  before,  and  which 
he  acquired  by  agreeing  to  pay  the  other  nine  children 
of  his  father  two  hundred  dollars  each,  and  providing 
for  the  parents  while  they  lived. 

The  farm  was  of  broad  acreage,  hilly  and  rocky,  but 
when  skillfully  and  laboriously  cultivated,  productive. 
The  house  was  square,  two-storied,  and  connected  by 
an  L  with  the  shed  and  an  immense  barn,  which  evi- 
denced the  value  of  the  farm  and  the  thrift  of  its  own- 
ers. There  was  a  front  room,  which  was  never  opened 
except  when  there  was  company;  a  dining-room,  twenty- 
five  feet  long,  which  was  also  the  sitting-room  and 
kitchen,  except  in  summer,  when  the  cooking  was  done 
in  the  L;  a  spacious  pantry,  and  eight  bedrooms.  In 
the  center  was  a  chimney,  in  which  were  fashioned  four 
fireplaces,  so  large  that  one  could  stand  in  them  and 
see  the  heavens  above,  and  a  brick  oven  eight  feet  by 
four.  She  was  the  mother  of  nine  children,  and  all 
but  Walter,  who  was  to  have  the  farm  when  his  parents 


48  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITING'S  OF 

could  no  longer  carry  it  on,  had  left  her.  One  had 
died.  John  was  a  lawyer  in  New  York;  Mary  married 
the  village  doctor;  Susan  was  a  teacher  in  Massachu- 
setts; Henry  was  superintendent  of  a  railroad;  Nathan 
was  a  member  of  a  Boston  dry  goods  firm,  George  had 
just  graduated  from  college,  and  Rebecca  was  the  wife 
of  a  Connecticut  farmer. 

The  head  of  the  family  was  strong,  sinewy,  and 
steady-going,  a  worker  who  was  always  ready  to  hold 
the  plow  or  drive;  a  manager  whose  judgment  was 
seldom  at  fault;  a  close  calculator  who  could  not  be 
mean  or  dishonest  if  he  tried;  a  deacon  who  lived  his 
religion  seven  days  in  the  week;  a  large  taxpayer  who 
paid  his  share  without  grumbling;  a  town  officer  who 
did  public  business  as  he  did  his  own;  a  man  who  never 
fretted  nor  fumed;  a  faithful  and  tender  husband  and 
a  devoted  father,  who  loved  his  children,  and,  from  the 
day  they  were  born,  labored  to  give  them  better  ad- 
vantages than  he  had;  a  good  citizen  who  voted  con- 
scientiously, and  a  good  neighbor  who  was  always  ready 
to  help;  a  representative  New  England  farmer  in  the 
iir*t  half  of  the  last  century. 

The  hired  girl  was  Eliza  and  the  hired  man  was 
Philip,  who  lived  with  his  wife  and  children  in  another 
house  on  the  farm.  Both  of  these  had  been  in  the 
employ  of  the  deacon  twenty-five  years,  and  were  as 
much  interested  in  the  land,  the  buildings,  and  the 
stock  as  they  would  have  been  if  they  had  owned  every 
dollar's  worth,  and  the  boys  and  girls  who  had  grown 
up  on  the  place  were  as  much  the  objects  of  their  affec- 
tion and  pride  as  if  they  were  their  own.    They  worked 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  49 

for  small  wages,  but  they  never  knew  what  it  was  to 
want,  and  lived  contentedly  in  the  knowledge  that  they 
would  always  be  cared  for.  Besides,  they  had  money  at 
interest,  as  much  as  $150  each.  What  more  did  they 
want  ? 

It  was  Thanksgiving  morning  in  1855,  and  the  ma- 
tron stood  in  front  of  the  fireplace  looking  up  and  down 
over  the  two  long  tables  so  placed  as  to  make  one,  which 
was  covered  with  broad,  homemade,  spotless  white  linen 
that  her  mother  had  given  her  when  she  began  house- 
keeping, and  she  said  to  Eliza:  "Let's  see!  Father  will 
sit  at  the  head  and  I  at  the  foot, — that 's  two, — and  John 
and  his  wife  and  boy  will  be  five,  and  Mary  and  the  doc- 
tor and  his  sister  will  be  eight,  and  Susan  and  her 
friend  ten,  and  Henry  and  his  wife — if  she  is  able  to 
come — twelve,  and  Nathan  and  his  wife  and  the  twins, 
sixteen,  and  George  and  his  girl,  eighteen,  and  Eebecca 
and  her  girl  in  the  high  chair,  twenty,  Walter  and  his 
wife,  and  Tommy  and  Molly,  twenty-three,  and  you, 
twenty-four,  and  the  three  babies  their  mothers  can 
hold.  Yes;  it  will  be  right  to  set  the  table  for  twenty- 
four,  for  Philip  is  at  his  daughter's  and  will  not  be 
here." 

Later  on,  when  the  stage  rolled  in,  those  who  had 
not  come  the  day  before  arrived,  and  they  were  all 
there.  The  china  closet  and  the  brick  oven  and  the 
cook  stove  and  the  pantry  gave  up  their  treasures,  and 
the  table  was  set.  She  was  a  very  proud  and  happy 
mother.  They  were  her  children.  She  had  planned 
and  worked  for  them  nearly  forty  years  from  daylight 
until   nearly  midnight.     She   had   cooked   their   food, 


50  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

made  and  mended  their  clothes,  nursed  them  when 
they  were  sick,  overseen  their  play,  taught  them  to 
work,  directed  their  schooling  and  home  training,  prac- 
ticed hard  economies  to  give  them  an  education,  with- 
out a  thought  that  she  was  carrying  a  heavy  burden  or 
making  extraordinary  sacrifices  for  them;  but  she  was 
so  glad  that  they  had  "turned  out  well,"  and  that  they 
came  home  every  Thanksgiving  when  it  was  not  ar- 
ranged that  she  and  they  should  spend  the  day  at  one 
of  their  homes. 

In  front  of  the  father's  chair  were  two  turkeys,  long, 
broad,  and  deep,  wreathed  in  parsley,  browned  in  a  hue 
that  no  painter  can  paint,  upholstered  in  fatness,  con- 
cealing in  their  depths  great  masses  of  the  mysterious 
lusciousness  known  as  "dressing,"  the  secrets  of  which 
no  cook  except  a  farmer's  wife  ever  mastered,  and  ap- 
parently swelling  with  pride  because  they  were  selected 
from  the  flock  to  grace  this  occasion,  instead  of  being 
sent  to  the  city  to  be  spoiled  in  roasting  and  fed  out 
to  boarders;  and  oceans  of  matchless  gravy  and  hillocks 
of  cranberry  sauce  and  jelly,  and  two  cavernous  pies  in 
which  four  prize  chickens,  dismembered  and  seasoned 
and  saturated,  were  hidden  by  far-reaching  and  tempt- 
ing crusts;  potatoes  and  beets  and  parsnips  and  squashes 
and  onions  and  cauliflowers  and  pickles  and  preserves; 
on  a  side  table,  within  easy  reach,  mince  pies  and  apple 
pies  and  squash  pies  and  berry  pies  and  plum  puddings; 
after  that,  coffee  and  tea  and  blackberry  wine  and  sweet 
cider  and  apples  and  pears  and  cheese  and  cookies. 
There  was  no  menu,  no  aproned  waiters,  and  no  need  of 
any,  for  they  could  all  see  what  they  wanted,  and  father 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  51 

and  mother  served  it.  There  was  a  blessing,  short,  sin- 
cere, and  devout:  "Heavenly  Father,  make  us  duly 
grateful  for  all  the  good  things  we  have,  and  do  not 
let  us  neglect  the  duty  we  owe  to  those  who  are  not  so 
fortunate."  That  was  all  the  deacon  said.  And  they 
ate  and  drank,  and  drank  and  ate  as  if  it  were  the  one 
feast  of  their  lives,  the  one  occasion  on  earth  where 
it  was  their  duty  to  have  insatiable  appetites,  as  if  they 
could  only  show  their  appreciation  and  regard  for  a  kind 
father  and  good  and  tender  mother  by  devouring  at  one 
sitting  all  the  fruits  of  her  marvelous  skill  and  tireless 
industry  which  was  spread  before  them.  And  she  was 
so  contented  and  happy! 

They  stayed  all  night,  and  in  the  evening  all,  except 
George  and  his  girl,  who  went  to  the  dance  at  the  town 
hall,  gathered  about  the  fireplace,  where  the  flames 
rushed  skyward  through  the  chimney  from  the  maple 
logs  as  if  to  tell  the  country  round  about  what  a  grand 
Thanksgiving  the  family  was  having,  and  they  talked  of 
old  times  and  times  to  come,  of  the  people  they  used 
to  know,  of  those  who  had  died  and  those  who  had 
lived  and  done  well,  and  those  who  had  lived  but  failed, 
and  of  themselves  and  their  children,  and  business  and 
plans  and  prospects,  and  what  they  could  do  for  father 
and  mother,  who  wanted  nothing  and  wished  for  noth- 
ing that  was  not  theirs  that  night.  The  next  day  most 
of  them  departed  for  their  homes,  to  throw  themselves 
again  into  the  whirl  of  business,  to  work  and  wrestle 
and  worry  in  their  endeavor  to  accumulate  money,  make 
reputations  and  achieve  success  in  life. 

It  was  a  typical  Thanksgiving,  such  as  took  place 


52  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

annually  in  hundreds  of  the  old  New  England  home- 
forty  years  ago,  and  is  to  be  seen  now  in  every  neigh- 
borhood in  that  section  where  the  traditions,  theories 
of  life,  aspirations,  and  aims  of  the  Puritans  survive,  and 
the  Yankees  have  not  committed  race  suicide. 

What  did  it  mean?  To  what  did  it  testify?  First, 
gratitude  to  God  for  the  harvest,  and  the  harvest,  be 
it  considered,  was  to  these  people  everything  material. 
With  it  they  lacked  next  to  nothing.  When  he  had 
gathered  his  crops  and  done  his  butchering,  the  suc- 
cessful New  England  farmer  of  half  a  century  ago  was 
the  most  independent  character  on  earth.  He  was 
surrounded  by  plenty,  and  peace  brooded  over  him  and 
his.  He  had  plenty  of  hay  and  grain,  plenty  of  beef, 
pork,  lamb,  and  poultry;  plenty  of  butter  and  cheese; 
plenty  of  eggs,  fruit,  and  vegetables.  He  had  wool, 
which  his  family  could  weave  into  clothing  and  bed- 
ding; calfskins  and  cowhides,  which  he  could  have 
tanned  for  his  boots  and  shoes.  He  had  plenty  of  cider 
and  wine,  and  wood  without  limit.  He  could  live 
through  the  winter  without  buying  anything.  A  few 
groceries  were  all  he  did  buy,  and  these  were  paid  for 
from  the  proceeds  of  his  products,  as  were  his  light 
taxes,  his  church  subscriptions  and  his  blacksmith  bill. 
He  traveled  with  his  own  team.  He  generally  paid  what 
help  he  employed  in  grain  and  meat. 

The  couple  whose  Thanksgiving  I  have  described 
did  not  handle  in  a  year  as  much  money  as  it  cost  their 
son  John  to  run  his  house  a  week,  but  they  brought  up 
eight  sons  and  daughters,  kept  them  comfortably  clothed 
and  well  fed,  gave  them  an  education,  and  sent  them  out 


11ENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  53 

into  the  world,  equipped  for  its  battles  in  an  age  of 
unrest,  struggle  and  strife,  which  they  were  able  to  do 
because  their  husbandry  did  not  fail  of  its  rewards. 
Appreciation  of  the  importance  of  the  crops  and  will- 
ingness to  credit  Divine  Providence  with  them  were  the 
fundamental  reasons  for  the  universal  observance  of  the 
Day  of  Thanksgiving  and  Praise,  which  the  Puritan 
fathers  instituted  and  their  descendants  have  continued, 
with  some  lapses  from  the  religious  exercises,  to  this 
day. 

It  was  a  homecoming,  and  in  that  lay  the  charm 
which  fastened  it  in  the  hearts  of  the  fathers  and  moth- 
ers who  owned  the  old  homesteads,  and  the  sons  and 
daughters  who  had  sought  in  other  fields  wider  oppor- 
tunities and  were  generally  scattered  far  and  wide.  It 
was  a  harvest  festival,  where  the  prosperous  and  happy 
shared  with  the  poor  and  distressed.  "Teach  us  not  to 
forget  those  who  are  not  as  fortunate  as  we,"  was  the 
prayer,  and  it  was  answered  before  it  was  uttered. 
However  little  of  the  good  things  of  earth  was  in  the 
possession  of  some  people,  generally  on  Thanksgiving 
Day  they  were  bountifully  provided  for.  On  that  day, 
if  on  no  other,  Charity  went  hand  in  hand  with  Plenty, 
and  no  one  was  allowed  to  feel  that  he  was  forgotten  or 
forsaken. 

It  brought  into  play  the  basic  principles  and  best 
impulses  of  a  race  of  men  and  women  whose  superiors 
in  all  that  makes  for  the  uplifting  of  humanity,  the 
progress  of  the  world  and  the  strength  and  permanency 
of  nations  have  never  been  known.  They  were  not 
strenuous.     There  was  nothing  spectacular  in  their  re- 


54  SFLFCTIOXS  FROM   THE   WRITIXGS  OF 

Union.  Theirs  was  not  a  flambeau  patriotism.  They 
did  not  exhaust  themselves  in  trying  to  abolish  the 
Primal  Curse  or  amend  the  Ten  Commandments.  They 
did  not  scheme  to  get  rich  quick.  They  were,  by  the 
standard  of  today,  slow  folks.  But  they  were  true  to 
their  God,  their  country,  their  families  and  themselves. 
They  feared  God  and  kept  his  commandments,  includ- 
ing that  to  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth.  They 
were  ready  to  fight  without  uniform  and  with  their  own 
muskets,  as  they  did  at  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill. 
They  were  industrious  beyond  anything  within  the  con- 
ception of  the  present  age.  They  never  thought  the 
world  owed  them  a  living  unless  they  earned  it.  They 
felt  it  was  their  duty  to  earn  and  have  enough  and  to 
spare.  They  were  strong  physically  and  mentally;  dys- 
pepsia, appendicitis,  and  microbes  were  discovered  after 
their  day.  They  did  their  own  thinking  and  needed  no 
society  to  resolve  what  they  should  say  and  no  union  to 
tell  them  when  to  work.  They  had  no  vanity,  but  they 
stood  erect  before  kings.  There  was  among  them  no 
aristocracy  of  birth,  wealth  or  position.  Their  center  of 
influence  and  accomplishments  was  the  family,  their 
altar  the  hearthstone.  Their  objects  of  veneration  on 
earth  were  the  father  and  mother.  Their  temples 
were  the  church,  the  schoolhouse,  and  the  townhouse. 
They  were  good  to  themselves  and  kind  to  their  neigh- 
bors. They  were  hard-working,  worldly-wise  and  frugal, 
prudent,  and  provident,  and,  therefore,  prosperous. 

All  these  qualities  and  others  corresponding  and  sup- 
porting went  to  make  up  the  character  of  the  early  set- 
tlers of  New  England  and  found  expression  in  their  an- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  55 

nual  feast.  Others  had  Fourth  of  July,  Christmas  and 
New  Year's,  but  only  the  thoroughbred  Yankee  had 
genuine  Thanksgiving  in  those  times  or  has  it  now, 
except  where  the  Yankee  spirit  has  carried  and  domi- 
nates it. 


Christmas. 

Home,  Mother,  Christmas!  Than  these,  language 
contains  no  words  sweeter,  richer  in  meaning,  more  en- 
during, more  beyond  human  power  to  change  for  the 
better,  and  today  Christmas  includes  the  other  two. 
Who  would  abolish  Christmas  if  he  could?  Who  could 
if  he  would?  Neither  pope  nor  president  nor  prince 
nor  other  potentate,  neither  pauper  nor  millionaire, 
neither  slave  nor  master,  neither  man  nor  woman  nor 
child  in  all  Christendom.  For  it  is  too  deeply  rooted 
in  the  veneration,  the  affections,  and  the  respect  of 
mankind;  too  closely  interwoven  with  the  expectancies, 
the  delightful  surprises  and  the  grateful  remembrances 
of  humanity;  too  richly  wreathed  in  the  charming 
fictions  and  the  sacred  mysteries  of  life;  too  heavily 
freighted  with  the  joys  of  earth  and  the  hopes  of 
heaven. 

A  Merry  Christmas — goodness,  generosity,  happiness! 
The  blessings  of  giving!  The  blessings  of  receiving! 
What  more  is  there  to  be  asked  for,  prayed  for,  wished 
for?  The  Christmas  greeting!  Was  ever  one  more 
cheering?  The  Christmas  tree!  Was  ever  one  so  fruit- 
ful?   The  Christmas  stocking!    Was  ever  fabric  woven 


6o  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

for  so  good  a  purpose?    Santa  Claus!    Has  all  the  im- 
agery of  the  ages  created  a  personage  so  munificent? 

One  cannot  easily  help  being  good  and  happy  on 
Christmas.  It  is  the  fashion.  It  is  contagious,  epi- 
demic.    A  Merry  Christmas  to  everybody! 


Dennis  and  the  Other. 

Dennis  Cooney,  an  old  resident  of  Hartford,  died  last 
week  and  was  decently  buried.  Whoever  preached  his 
funeral  sermon  could  have  said  of  him,  without  exag- 
geration, "He  was  honest,  industrious,  sober,  temper- 
ate, faithful,  law-abiding,  frugal,  thrifty,  and,  from  his 
standpoint  in  life,  successful.  He  was  a  stranger  to  all 
the  common  vices.  He  never  used  liquor  nor  tobacco. 
He  never  gambled.  He  squandered  no  money  on  fine 
raiment.  He  paid  his  taxes  and  church  dues.  He  never 
took  anything  that  did  not  belong  to  him.  He  had 
nothing  that  he  did  not  earn,  and  he  left  a  fortune  of 
seventeen  thousand  dollars.  How  did  he  get  it?  For 
whom  did  he  save  it? 

He  was  a  day  laborer.  He  never  got  more  than  one 
dollar  and  fifty  cents  a  day,  and  generally  less  than  that. 
He  worked  from  sun  to  sun.  He  went  barefooted  to 
save  his  shoes.  He  walked  to  save  car  fares.  He  never 
married  and  lived  alone,  to  save  expense.  His  one  ob- 
ject in  life  was  to  save.  His  one  enjoyment  was  in  get- 
ting and  hoarding.  He  was  an  honest  miser,  who  did 
nothing  he  had  not  a  legal  right  to  do,  and  the  seven- 
teen thousand  dollars  he  left  was  indisputably  his. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  57 

As  soon  as  he  left  it  his  distant  relatives  began  to 
wrangle  over  its  distribution.  They  were  strangers  to 
him  while  he  was  on  earth,  but  they  got  busy  about  his 
strong  box  before  he  was  under  ground,  and  with  four 
law  firms  to  help  them  have  begun  a  contest,  which 
will  probably  continue  until  there  is  nothing  left  for 
the  heirs. 

The  fight  will  be  a  good  thing  for  the  lawyers ;  it  will 
serve  the  uncles,  cousins,  and  aunts  right,  and  it  will 
not  hurt  Dennis  a  bit.  But  if  he  could  look  down,  or 
up,  and  see  what  is  going  on  in  Hartford,  would  n't  or 
would  he  say,  "What  a  fool  was  I  to  live  on  next  to 
nothing,  to  slave  from  morning  till  night,  to  save  and 
hoard  every  penny  I  earned,  for  the  lawyers  and  other 
liars  that 's  scrapping  for  it  now."  When  the  coals  are 
all  raked  up  and  the  books  are  balanced,  what 's  the 
good  of  being  a  miser  anyhow? 

A  different  man  died  in  Hartford  and  in  a  hundred 
other  cities  last  week.  The  parson  who  preached  his 
funeral  sermon  felt  he  was  skating  on  thin  ice  and 
skipped  across  very  lightly.  He  made  no  remarks  about 
industry,  frugality  or  economy,  for  the  departed  was 
a  prodigal,  a  spendthrift,  who  inherited  seventeen  thou- 
sand dollars,  more  or  less,  and  died  bankrupt,  leaving 
nothing  for  distant  relatives  or  the  lawyers  to  quarrel 
over  and  divide,  and  there  was  not  much  to  be  said  in 
his  favor  except  that  he  was  whole-souled,  free,  and  easy. 

Which  would  you  rather  be,  dead,  Dennis  or  the 
bankrupt?  Neither!  "In  medio  tutissimus  ibis."  Sail 
in  the  middle  course.  Avoid  extremes.  Live  within 
your  means.    Live  up  to  your  means.    Don't  be  miserly. 


58  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE   WRITINGS  OF 

Don't  be  mean.  Don't  rob  yourself  of  tbe  good  things 
of  earth  which  you  can  afford  in  order  to  leave  some- 
thing for  those  who  care  nothing  for  you  and  who  wait 
for  your  estate  as  jackals  wait  for  the  carcass.  Don't 
live  in  affluence  and  die  in  poverty.  Don't  be  Dennis 
and  don't  be  the  other. 


The  "Jiners." 

She  was  about  forty-five  years  old,  well  dressed,  had 
black  hair,  rather  thin  and  tinged  with  gray,  and  eyes 
ill  which  gleamed  the  fires  of  a  determination  not  to  be 
easily  balked.  She  walked  into  Major  Huse's  office,  in 
Patten's  block,  and  requested  a  private  interview,  and, 
having  obtained  it,  and  satisfied  herself  that  the  law 
students  were  not  listening  at  the  keyhole,  said  slowly, 
solemnly,  and  impressively,  "I  want  a  divorce." 

"What  for?  I  supposed  you  had  one  of  the  best  of 
husbands,"  said  the  major. 

"I  suppose  that 's  what  everybody  thinks,  but  if  they 
knew  what  I  've  suffered  in  ten  years  they  'd  wonder  I 
had  n't  scalded  him  long  ago.  I  ought  to,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  young  ones  I  've  borne  it  and  said  nothing. 
I  've  told  him,  though,  what  he  might  depend  on,  and 
now  the  time  's  come  I  won't  stand  it,  young  ones  or  no 
young  ones,  I  '11  have  a  divorce,  and  if  the  neighbors 
want  to  blab  themselves  hoarse  about  it  they  may,  for 
I  won't  stand  it  another  day." 

"But  what  \s  the  matter?  Don't  your  husband  pro- 
vide for  you?  Is  n't  he  true  to  you?  Don't  he  treat  you 
kindly?"  pursued  the  lawyer. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  59 

"We  get  victuals  enough,  and  I  don't  know  but  he  'a 
as  true  and  kind  as  men  in  general;  and  he's  never 
knocked  none  of  us  down.  I  wish  he  had,  then  I  'd  get 
him  into  jail  and  know  where  he  was  nights,"  retorted 
the  woman. 

"Then  what's  your  complaint  against  him?" 

"Well,  if  you  must  know,  he  's  one  of  them  plaguy 
jiners." 

"A  what?" 

"A  jiner.  One  of  the  pesky  fools  that 's  always 
jining  something.  There  can't  anything  come  along 
that 's  dark  and  sly  and  hidden  but  he  '11  jine  it.  If 
anybody  should  get  up  a  society  to  burn  his  house 
down  he  'd  jine  it  just  as  soon  as  he  could  get  in,  and 
if  they  had  to  pay  to  get  in  he  'd  go  all  the  suddener. 
We  had  n't  been  married  more  'n  two  months  before  he 
jined  the  Know  Nothins.  We  lived  on  a  farm  then, 
and  every  Saturday  night  he  'd  come  tearin'  in  before 
supper  and  grab  a  fistful  of  nut  cakes  and  go  off  gnaw- 
in'  'em,  and  that 's  the  last  I  'd  see  of  him  till  mornin'. 
And  every  other  night  he  'd  roll  and  tumble  in  his 
sleep,  and  holler  Tut  none  but  Americans  on  guard, 
George  Washington!'  and  rainy  days  he  'd  go  out  in  the 
corn  barn  and  jab  at  a  picture  of  the  pope  with  an  old 
bagnet  that  was  there.  I  ought  to  have  put  my  foot 
down  then,  but  he  fooled  me  so  with  his  lies  about  the 
pope's  coming  to  make  all  the  Yankee  girls  marry  Irish- 
men, and  to  eat  up  all  the  babies  that  was  n't  born  with 
a  cross  on  their  foreheads,  that  I  let  him  go  on  and 
kinder  encouraged  him  in  it.  Then  he  jined  the  Ma- 
sons.   P'raps  you  know  what  them  be,  but  I  don't,  "cept 


60  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITIXGS  OF 

they  think  they  're  the  same  kind  of  critters  that  built 
Solomon's  temple  and  took  care  of  his  concubines;  and 
of  all  the  darned  nonsense  and  gab  about  worshipful 
masters,  and  squares  and  compasses,  and  sich  like,  that 
we  had  in  the  house  for  the  next  six  months,  you  never 
see  the  beat.  And  he 's  never  outgrowed  it,  nuther. 
What  do  you  think  of  a  man,  square,  that  '11  dres9  his- 
self  in  a  white  apron,  'bout  big  enuff  for  a  monkey's 
bib,  and  go  marching  up  and  down,  making  motions 
and  talking  the  foolishest  lingo  at  a  picture  of  George 
Washington  in  a  green  jacket,  and  a  truss  on  his  stom- 
ach? Ain't  he  a  loonytick?  Well,  that 's  my  Sam,  and 
I  've  stood  it  long  as  I  'm  goin'  to. 

"The  next  lunge  the  fool  made  was  into  the  Odd 
Fellers.  I  made  it  warm  for  him  when  he  came  home 
and  he  told  me  he  'd  jined  them;  but  he  kinder  pacified 
me  by  telling  that  they  had  a  sort  of  branch  show  that 
took  women,  and  he  'd  get  me  in  as  soon  as  he  found 
out  how  to  do  it.  Well,  one  night  he  come  home  and 
said  I  'd  been  proposed  and  somebody  had  blackballed 
me.  Did  it  hisself,  of  course.  Did  n't  want  me  round 
knowing  to  his  going  on.  Of  course  he  did  n't,  and  I 
told  him  so. 

"Then  he  jined  the  Sons  of  Malta.  Did  n't  say  noth- 
ing to  me  about  it,  but  sneaked  off  one  night,  pertendin' 
he  'd  got  to  set  up  with  a  sick  Odd  Feller;  and  I  'd 
never  found  it  out  only  he  come  home  lookin'  like  a 
man  that  had  been  through  a  thrashin'  machine,  and 
I  would  n't  do  a  thing  for  him  till  he  owned  up.  And 
so  it 's  gone  from  bad  to  wus,  and  from  wus  to  wusser, 
jinin'  this  and  that  and  t'  other  till  he 's  Worshipful 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  61 

Minister  of  the  Masons,  the  Goddess  of  Hope  of  the 
Odd  Fellers,  and  Sword-Swallerer  of  the  Finnagans, 
and  Virgin  Cereus  of  the  Grange,  and  Grand  Mogul  of 
the  Sons  of  Indolence,  and  Two-Edged  Tomahawk  of 
the  United  Order  of  Black  Men,  and  the  Tale-Bearer  of 
the  Merciful  Mannikins,  and  Skipper  of  the  Guild  of 
Catherine  Columbus,  and  Big  Wizard  of  the  Arabian 
Nights,  and  Pledge-Passer  of  the  Reform  Club,  and 
Chief  Bugler  of  the  Irish  Machinists,  and  Purse  Keeper 
of  the  Order  of  the  Canadian  Conscience,  and  Double- 
Barreled  Dictator  of  the  Knights  of  the  Brass  Circles, 
and  Standard-Bearer  of  the  Royal  Archangels,  and  Sub- 
lime Porte  of  the  Union  League,  and  Chambermaid  of 
the  Celestial  Cherubs,  and  Puissant  Potentate  of  the 
Petrified  Pig-Stickers,  and  the  Lord  only  knows  what 
else.  I  've  borne  it  and  borne  it,  hopin'  he  'd  get  'em 
all  jined  after  awhile;  but  't  ain't  no  use;  and  when  he 
come  home  last  night  and  told  me  he  'd  got  into  a  new 
one  and  had  been  made  Grand  Guide  of  the  Nights  of 
Horror,  I  just  told  him  I  'd  quit;  and  I  will." 

Here  the  major  interrupted,  saying: 

"Well,  your  husband  is  pretty  well  initiated,  that 's 
a  fact;  but  the  court  will  hardly  call  that  good  cause 
for  a  divorce.  The  most  of  the  societies  you  mention 
are  composed  of  honorable  men,  and  have  excellent  rep- 
utations. Many  of  them,  though  called  lodges,  are  re- 
lief associations  and  mutual  insurance  companies, 
which,  if  your  husband  should  die,  would  take  care  of 
you  and  which  would  not  see  3Tou  or  him  suffer  if  you 
were  sick." 

"See  me  suffer  when  he's  sick!     Take  care  of  me 


C2  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

when  I  'm  dead!  Well,  I  guess  not;  I  can  take  care  of 
myself  when  he 's  dead;  and,  if  I  can't,  I  can  get 
another.  There  'a  plenty  of  'em.  And  they  need  n't 
bother  themselves  when  I  'm  sick,  either.  If  I  want  to 
be  sick  and  suffer,  it's  none  of  their  business;  espe- 
cially after  all  the  sufferin'  I  've  had  when  I  ain't  sick 
because  of  their  carryn's  on.  And  you  need  n't  try 
and  make  me  believe  it 's  all  right,  either.  I  know  what 
it  is  to  live  with  a  man  that  jines  so  many  lodges  that 
he  don't  never  lodge  at  home,  and  that  signs  his  name, 
'Yours  truly,  Sam  Smith,  M.  M.,  I.  0.  0.  F.,  K.  0.  B., 
K.  0.  P.,  P.  of  H.,  B.  A.  H.,  I.  P.,  K.  of  X.,  N.  of  C, 
L.  E.  T.,  H.  E.  R.,  R.  R.  I.  P.,  X.  Y.  Z./  etc." 

"Oh,  that 's  a  harmless  amusement,"  remarked  Mr. 
Huse. 

She  looked  him  square  in  the  eye  and  said,  "I  do  be- 
lieve you  're  a  jiner  yourself." 

He  admitted  that  he  was  to  a  certain  extent,  and  she 
rose  and  said,  "I  would  n't  have  thought  it.  A  man  like 
you,  chairman  of  a  Sabbath  school  and  superintendent 
of  the  Republicans!  It's  enough  to  make  a  woman 
take  pisen.  But  I  don't  want  anything  of  you.  I  want 
a  lawyer  that  don't  belong  to  nobody  nor  nothin'." 

And  she  bolted  out  of  the  office  and  inquired  where 
Captain  Patten  kept. 


HEyitY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  63 


What  Do  We  Work  For? 

In  almost  every  occupation  there  are  two  classes  of 
workers,  those  who  work  for  themselves  and  those  who 
work  for  others.  In  one  sense  we  are  all  of  us  doing 
both,  for  in  every  honorable  department  of  industry, 
while  our  work  is  bringing  to  us  its  just  reward,  it  is  also 
doing  good  to  the  community.  Unless  we  should  be 
cast  on  a  desert  island,  like  Robinson  Crusoe,  this  must 
be  the  case,  whether  we  intend  it  or  not.  Yet  as  the 
first  of  these  results  usually  obtains  a  much  stronger 
hold  upon  us  than  the  latter,  it  follows  there  is  often  a 
very  marked  difference  in  the  quality  and  amount  of 
labor  undertaken  at  our  own  risk  of  success  and  that 
which  we  do  for  another,  who  gives  a  certain  stipend 
in  return.  A  mechanic,  for  example,  opens  up  a  small 
shop  as  a  carpenter  or  blacksmith  or  shoemaker.  Pres- 
ently his  business  increases  and  he  hires  another  man 
to  help  him  at  a  regular  price  per  week.  In  like  man- 
ner the  lawyer  must  obtain  a  clerk,  the  writer  an  aman- 
uensis, the  housekeeper  a  cook.  From  these  simple 
beginnings  up  to  the  complicated  business  of  the  large 
merchant,  or  manufacturer,  or  agriculturist,  or  other 
organized  industry,  the  same  discrimination  must  ex- 
ist. A  few  run  risks  and  take  profits;  a  much  larger 
number  sell  their  labor  for  a  definite  sum.  Both  are 
equally  necessary  for  the  efficient  conduct  of  most  of 
the  occupations  of  life.     There  are,  it  is  true,  a  few 


64  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

solitary  workers — the  artist,  the  author,  and  others — who 
may  prefer  to  labor  in  retirement,  but  the  large  major- 
ity belong  either  to  the  class  of  employer  or  employed. 
We  must  admit  that  one  of  the  former  class  has  an 
incentive  to  strenuous  effort  that  is  lacking  to  one  of  the 
latter.  He  knows  that  success  or  failure  in  the  enter- 
prise means  personal  success  or  failure  to  himself,  while 
to  the  other  it  carries  no  such  vital  result.  He  who  is 
working  for  himself  knows  that  every  effort  he  makes 
tells  directly  upon  his  own  prosperity,  while  to  him 
who  is  working  for  others,  at  a  stated  amount,  it  may 
sometimes  seem  for  his  own  interest  to  give  as  little 
labor  as  possible  for  what  he  receives.  The  wholesale 
buyer  and  the  retail  customer  certainly  adopt  this  plan 
in  regard  to  the  money  they  pay  out.  Yet  he  who  re- 
gards his  labor  simply  in  this  light  will  generally  be 
disappointed.  He  may  plead  that  he  keeps  within  the 
line  of  strict  justice,  as  did  a  young  man  the  other 
day,  who,  being  sent  by  his  employer  on  a  business  er- 
rand to  a  distant  town,  found,  when  within  a  very  short 
distance  of  his  destination,  that  he  could  not  perforin 
the  errand  and  return  home  again  exactly  by  five  o'clock, 
the  hour  of  closing,  so  stopped  at  the  next  station  and 
returned  to  the  office  in  time  to  leave  off  work!  It 
hardly  needs  to  be  said  that  as  such  ideas  of  justice 
formed  his  habitual  standard  they  did  not  render  him 
sufficiently  valuable  to  be  retained,  and  he  is  now  seek- 
ing for  another  position.  Indeed,  no  real  justice  can 
exist  when  personal  interest  is  the  only  consideration. 
If  we  care  only  for  the  wages  or  the  salary  and  nothing 
for  the  results  of  our  labor,  we  are  thereby  incapaci- 


HEXRY  MARCUS  PUTXEY.  65 

tated  from  forming  any  just  idea  of  what  we  owe  to 
others.  And  one  who  thus  reasons  and  acts  will  never 
gain  more  than  a  mere  temporary  success,  for  the  value 
of  his  work  will  be  measured  by  very  different  stand- 
ards by  those  who  pay  for  it.  If  we  examine  the  rec- 
ords of  those  who  have  risen  from  small  beginnings  to 
important  posts  we  shall  find  that  they  took  no  such 
narrow  views  and  drove  no  such  hard  and  fast  bargains 
when  they  disposed  of  their  labor,  but  rather  strove  to 
make  themselves  as  valuable  as  possible  to  those  who 
employed  them.  Were  there  no  other  object  in  life 
than  self  interest,  even  it  would  best  thrive  on  a  broad 
and  generous  basis  when  laboring  for  others. 

It  is,  however,  not  merely  from  policy  that  we  would 
urge  a  certain  liberality  in  labor  upon  those  who  work 
for  others.  It  will  bear  still  richer  fruit  than  personal 
prosperity  if  induced  by  higher  motives.  No  one  can 
rise  to  any  high  level  of  character  who  takes  no  pride 
in  his  work.  This  is  something  quite  apart  from  the 
relation  he  bears  to  the  one  for  whom  he  labors.  If, 
besides  the  money  it  brings  him  and  the  prospect  of 
promotion,  and  even  the  justice  of  the  contract  itself, 
he  also  longs  for  excellence;  if  he  take  delight  in  its 
solidity  or  beauty,  in  its  usefulness  or  permanence,  in 
its  superiority  as  a  wThole  or  the  perfection  of  its  details, 
in  the  good  it  may  do  and  the  influence  it  may  exert, 
he  is  a  higher  type  of  character  and  a  far  more  valuable 
factor  in  the  welfare  of  the  world.  Adam  Bede,  that 
admirable  carpenter  of  George  Eliot's  creation,  says: 

"I  can't  abide  to  see  men  throw  away  their  tools  i' 
that  way  the  minute  the  clock  begins  to  strike,  as  if 


66  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

they  took  no  pleasure  i'  their  work  and  were  afraid  of 
doing  a  stroke  too  much." 

Were  all  our  master  builders  and  mechanics  like 
Adam,  how  strong  and  solid  would  our  houses  be!  How 
safe  and  sanitary  would  be  the  plumbing,  how  firm  the 
masonry!  If  all  our  manufactures  were  conducted  in 
this  spirit,  how  pure  would  be  our  household  supplies, 
how  trustworthy  our  fabrics,  how  reliable  our  posses- 
sions of  every  kind!  If  such  motives  governed  the 
leaders  and  statesmen  of  our  land,  what  a  marvelous 
change  would  take  place  in  our  entire  social  and  polit- 
ical condition!  Trust  would  replace  suspicion,  purity 
would  replace  corruption,  the  good  of  the  community 
and  the  good  of  the  individual  would  together  be  in- 
creased a  hundredfold. 

Although  we  can  look  for  no  such  sudden  or  radical 
change  in  our  character  as  a  people,  though  we  know 
that  moral  progress  has  too  many  adverse  factors  to 
contend  with  to  be  rapid  in  its  movement,  yet  we  also 
know  that  each  individual  can  do  his  share  towards 
accelerating  it.  In  his  own  department  of  industry, 
whether  of  head  or  hand,  whether  simple  or  complex, 
he  can  cultivate  excellence  quite  apart  from  the  effect 
it  may  have  upon  his  own  interest.  He  can  nourish  a 
pride  in  his  own  work,  both  in  its  matter  and  its  form, 
in  its  intrinsic  value  and  in  its  wide  results  on  human 
welfare.  He  can  ponder  on  the  need  the  community 
has  of  his  work,  and  try  to  supply  that  need  in  the  best 
and  fullest  manner.  Such  thoughts,  cherished  and  pur- 
sued, will  suggest  many  methods  of  improvement  and 
teach  many  lessons  of  patient  and  unflinching  effort. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  67 

These  higher  motives  do  not  impose  any  disastrous  self 
sacrifice  nor  any  loss  of  personal  rights.  Everywhere 
the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire,  and  should  require 
and  receive  it.  His  duty  to  himself  and  his  family 
cannot  be  performed  without  it.  But  that  secured,  let 
him  put  his  heart  and  soul  into  his  work;  let  him  never 
be  satisfied  with  less  than  his  best  efEorts;  let  him  make 
it  a  connecting  link  between  himself  and  the  commu- 
nity, that  may  bear  to  them  comfort,  or  safety,  or  beauty, 
or  joy,  or  help — something,  at  least,  that  shall  make 
the  world  better  and  happier  that  he  has  lived  and 
labored  in  it. 


The  Boy  Finds  His  Father. 

"Put's  boy"  was  a  creation  of  the  writer's  Imagination,  and  most 
of  his  amusing  observations  and  doings  were  chronicled  in  Mr.  Put- 
ney's reports  of  the  New  Hampshire  Legislature,  under  the  caption 
"Notes  from  the  Capital."  These  reports  attained  wide  distinction, 
and  "Put's  boy"  became  a  great  source  of  entertainment.  His  last 
appearance  was  in  connection  with  a  visit  Mr.  Putney  made  to  Wash- 
ington. 

Pokchmouth,  Monday  Night. 
To  the  Buro: 

I  've  got  the  old  man,  got  him  foul.  I  came  down 
here  to  find  him.  You  know  how  much  I  have  wanted 
to  find  my  long-lost  father,  and  how  I  have  hunted 
after  him  all  these  years.  I  always  wanted  a  father 
ever  since  I  got  so  big  one  could  n't  boss  me  round,  be- 
cause I  thought  may  be  he  might  have  a  lot  of  money 
he  would  leave  to  some  orphan  as3rlum,  and  I  wanted 
to  be  that  asylum.     There  is  n't  an  asylum  anywhere 


€8  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE   VTKITJXGS  OF 

that  wants  to  be  endowed  more  than  I  do,  and  it  would 
be  a  burning  shame  to  have  some  rich  old  covey  go 
and  make  his  will  and  give  his  scrip  to  strange  orphans, 
when  his  own  child  had  to  earn  his  own  living  telling 
the  truth  and  running  errands  for  the  bureau. 

Telling  the  truth  is  nice  business,  but  it 's  mighty 
up-hill  work  at  Concord,  and  the  salary  don't  half  pay 
for  the  strain  on  a  boy's  nerves.  So  I  said,  I  '11  find 
my  dad  and  get  endowed,  and  I  've  hunted  for  him 
among  all  the  rich  and  high-toned  fellows  I  have  met. 

Once  I  went  to  a  medium  and  asked  her  where  the 
old  man  was,  and  she  went  to  sleep  and  said  she  could 
see  him  swinging  from  a  tree  out  in  Nebraska.  I 
thought  that  was  a  lie.  But  I  did  n't  get  ahead  any 
with  the  hunt  and  had  about  given  it  up,  when  Sunday 
I  was  reading  in  Frank  Miller's  Weekly  what  he  said 
about  the  state  printing,  and  I  thought  right  off,  that 's 
the  same  voice  that  said,  "Feed  him  on  water,  and  don't 
give  him  that  full  strength,  for  I  want  him  to  grow 
up  a  temperance  man.  He  is  of  noble  blood  and  must 
not  disgrace  the  family  name,"  when  I  was  left  at  a 
baby  farm  in  Boston.  So  I  came  down,  and,  sure 
enough,  it 's  he.  Yes,  it 's  he.  But  oh  how  the  old 
man  has  changed!  I  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to 
make  him  own  me.  He  did  n't  fold  me  to  his  bosom 
and  say  he  was  glad  to  see  how  I  'd  grown  up  to  be  like 
him  and  taken  up  the  fight  against  tea  and  tobacco. 
Not  much!  But  he  said,  "You  infernal  villin,  you  are 
the  scamp  that  poked  fun  at  me  at  Concord  the  other 
day.  Yes,  at  me,  a  man  who  has  been  for  seventeen 
times  a  candidate  for  office,  mostly  without  solicitation 
on  his  part." 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  69 

Oh!  but  he  was  raving,  and  they  told  me  he  had  been 
out  of  his  head  ever  since  he  left  Concord.  I  thought 
may  be  I  could  soothe  him,  and  said,  "Dad,  don't  you 
know  your  beautiful  boy?"  but  this  only  made  him 
worse,  and  he  went  on  moaning,  "Petered  out,  petered 
out.     Only  five  votes,  and  one  of  these  Ubicle  Wiggins." 

But  by  and  by  he  had  what  the  doctor  called  a  lucid 
interval,  and  then  he  owned  me — some,  and  said,  "Yes, 
I  'm  your  long-lost  parent.  There  was  a  time  when 
nothing  would  have  made  me  acknowledge  this,  but 
that  time  has  passed.  To  a  man  in  my  frame  of  mind 
nothing  is  humiliating.  The  country  has  gone  to  the 
dogs.  Men,  women,  and  children  drink  tea  as  a  bever- 
age; sweet  cider  is  sucked  through  straws  as  of  old,  and 
cigars  are  openly  sold  in  every  village.  I  have  fought 
the  good  fight  and  lost.  I  am  played  out.  Come  on, 
I  will  own  you.  Go  and  gather  in  all  your  brothers 
and  sisters  and  I  will  acknowledge  them." 

So  I  found  my  father.  It  is  n't  much  of  a  find.  He 
don't  pan  out  what  I  expected,  and  he  is  n't  what  any- 
body who  knows  me  would  have  expected.  But  I  've 
got  him;  and  if  he  behaves  himself  I  shall  stay  with  him; 
if  he  don't  I  shall  have  to  marry  a  father. 

HOOSEAE  MILLER. 


70  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITIXOS  OF 


The   Boy's  Return. 

Much  to  our  surprise,  we  found  the  boy  here  when  we 
returned.  He  sat  composedly  in  the  bureau,  with  his 
feet  on  the  table  and  his  eyes  closed,  debating  with 
himself,  as  he  afterwards  confessed,  whether  Jim  French 
would  find  it  out  if  he  appropriated  about  fifty  Havana 
cigars,  which  French  left  in  his  room,  and  supplied  their 
places  with  short  sixes. 

"Halloo!  Where  did  you  come  from?  Thought  you 
were  with  your  father  in  Portsmouth." 

"Well,  I  was,  but  I  've  shook  him." 

"Shook  him!     What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Oh,  he  and  I  have  dissolved.  I  told  him  he  or  I 
had  got  to  leave.  He  would  n't,  and,  rather  than  have 
a  fuss  in  the  family,  I  came." 

"He  ought  to  be  thankful  to  be  rid  of  such  a  grace- 
less scamp." 

"I  ain't  to  blame.  I  hope  I  know  what 's  a  boy's  duty 
to  his  father  that  left  him  in  an  orphan  asylum  when 
he  was  a  baby,  and  I  'd  been  glad  to  have  staid  with 
the  old  man  till  he  died,  but  a  boy  that 's  got  a  reputa- 
tion to  keep  can't  stand  everything.  He  's  got  to  re- 
spect hisself  or  he  's  a  gone  goose." 

"But  what 's  the  trouble  with  him?" 

"Took  to  strong  drink.  He  did  it  very  sudden,  but 
when  he  went  he  went  in  all  over,  like  a  mittened  girl 
when  she  drowns  herself." 


EEXRY  MARCUS  PUTXEY.  71 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Miller 's  taken  to  strong 
drink?" 

"That 's  what  I  said,  and  what  I  6aid  I  don't  take 
back  unless  the  man  I  said  it  to  is  bigger  than  me. 
Perhaps  it  would  n't  be  strong  drink  for  most  folks,  but 
it 's  too  stout  for  him." 

"What  does  he  drink?" 

"Milk  and  water — four  parts  water  and  one  part 
milk." 

"You  see  he  was  terribly  down  in  the  mouth,  as  I 
wrote  you,  and  he  thought  a  little  something  stimulating 
would  kind  of  cheer  him  up.  So  I  mixed  it,  eight 
spoonfuls  of  water  and  two  of  milk,  skimmed  at  that. 
He  only  drank  one  swallow,  but  it  went  straight  to  his 
head,  and  he 's  been  on  a  tear  ever  since.  We  got  him 
tied  to  the  bedpost  one  morning,  and  I  read  all  the  St. 
Louis  platform  and  Tilden's  letter  to  him,  and  the 
hired  girl  came  in  on  the  chorus  and  yelled,  'Keform 
is  necessary'  in  her  best  style,  but  it  was  no  use.  Then 
we  had  to  cheat  him;  gave  him  white  lead  and  water, 
lime  and  water,  and  everything  else  we  could  think  of 
that  looks  like  watered  milk,  and  if  we  could  have  kept 
the  milk  cart  away  we  might  have  brought  him  out; 
but  he  had  got  into  such  a  state  that  a  man's  going  up 
the  back  street  with  a  milk-can  set  him  to  see  snakes 
and  bugs  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  we  gave  it  up. 
It 's  awful,  and  I  'd  lie  about  it  and  say  he  was  sick,  if 
it  want  for  getting  into  the  habit,  but  of  course  I 
could  n't  stay  there  and  lose  my  character.  So  I  left 
and  here  am  I.  Had  to  walk  up.  I  told  him  at  the 
depot  that  the  legislature  had  passed  Adam's  railroad 


72  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRIT1X0S  OF 

bill  that  common  folks  should  pay  three  cents  a  mile, 
but  eminent  persons  should  ride  free,  and  I  wanted  a 
pass  as  an  eminent;  but  he  could  n't  see  it,  and  now  I 
want  to  post  him,  so  he  won't  be  coming  round  here 
and  trying  to  play  the  prodigal  calf;  and  then  he  's  ready 
for  business. 

"You  will  please  print  this  till  forbid,  and  charge  the 
bill  to  him: 

"Anybody  Who  Cares  About  It. 

"Section  1.  Whereas,  The  old  man  has  turned  out 
to  be  a  bad  egg,  and  I've  shook  him;  therefore  take 
notice  that  he  sha'  n't  get  any  of  my  earnings,  and  any- 
body who  sells  him  milk  and  other  wet  groceries  on  tick 
does  it  at  his  own  expense. 

"Sect.  2.  'Nothing  in  this  act  shall  be  took  to  mean 
that  if  he  dies  and  leaves  property  it  ain't  mine.' 

"Sect.  3.  If  the  People's  lookout  man  twits  me 
about  my  parents,  I  '11  lick  him. 

"Sect.  4.  Section  three  of  this  act  shall  take  effect 
on  his  passage;  the  other  sections  was  in  force  yesterday. 

"PUT'S  BOY  (nee  Miller). 

"Witness: — Josie  Wiooin. 

"P.  S.     Josie  is  my  adopted  sister." 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  73 


The  Boy's  Life  in  Washington. 
No.  I. 

I  never  saw  a  worse  liar  than  the  little  darkey  that 
blacked  boots  on  the  train  we  came  on.  It  was  dark 
when  we  left  Boston,  and  Joe,  who  wanted  to  know 
about  the  train, — the  travel  on  it  and  the  route, — gave 
the  black  rascal  ten  cents  to  tell  us.  He  said  the  train 
was  made  up  of  eight  palace  cars,  that  they  were  so 
nice  that  near  Baltimore  the  company  had  built  a  house 
over  the  track  to  keep  the  dew  off  of  them,  and  that 
when  we  got  down  South  the  air  would  be  so  thick 
with  the  scent  of  peach  blossoms  that  it  would  prob- 
ably make  me  sick,  and  so  on.  We  believed  it,  but 
when  we  looked  there  was  only  a  freight  car,  a  baggage 
car,  and  one  parlor  car  on  the  train,  and  these  had  n't 
any  Miller  platforms. 

The  track  near  Baltimore  runs  through  a  wet,  black 
tunnel,  and  the  weather  grew  colder  and  nastier  and  the 
snow  deeper  every  hour  till  we  got  here.  Joe  thinks 
the  chap  might  have  thought  we  were  rebels,  and  that 
if  he  had  known  we  were  Eepublicans  and  against  mak- 
ing him  a  cattle,  he  would  n't  have  lied  so,  but  I  believe 
he  did  it  on  purpose. 

There  are  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  folks  liv- 
ing in  Washington,  and  all  but  fourteen  of  them  are 
paupers,  but  it  don't  cost  anything  to  support  them. 
They  live  on  the  government. 


> 

74  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

As  near  as  I  can  calculate,  they  have  put  two  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  millions  of  our  money  into  buildings 
and  plaster  of  Paris  images  here,  but  I  don't  mind  it; 
there  will  be  less  for  my  heirs  to  quarrel  over  when  I  'm 
gone. 

That  story  about  this  town  's  being  named  for  a  man 
who  could  n't  tell  a  lie  is  false.  There  was  n't  any  such 
man  ever  here,  and  the  yarn  was  got  up  to  cheat  small 
boys  with.  Young  friends,  if  you  ever  want  to  come 
to  congress  don't  be  fooled  into  believing  that  kind  of 
stories. 

The  Smithsonian  Institute  is  where  they  keep  seven 
hundred  million  things,  which  they  call  curiosities. 
Every  strange  thing  you  ever  heard  of,  and  a  good  many 
things  you  never  dreamed  of,  are  there. 

The  strangest  thing  I  6aw  was  a  pair  of  ears  eleven 
feet  and  four  inches  long.  On  the  tin  tag  which  they 
are  tied  to  it  says:  "Earum  Jackassum  Humanum." 
These  ears  were  cut  from  the  head  of  a  sailor  by  order 
of  her  British  majesty,  because  he  did  n't  mind  his  own 
business.  He  was  afterwards  the  local  editor  of  a  Dem- 
ocratic paper,  and  a  prominent  ward  five  politician  in 
Manchester,  N.  H. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  75 


Put's   Boy's   Letter  from   Washington. 
No*  2. 

Washington,  D.  C,  December  23,  1885. 

Old  Gent: — I  heven't  writ  you  for  a  long  spel. 
Why  should  I?  Why  should  enybody  waste  postage 
stamps  writin'  to  thare  dads  and  thare  gurls  and  other 
folks  when  they  don't  want  to  borrer  muney  nor  git  sur- 
tifkits  to  thare  moral  karacter  nur  nothin'  els  that 's 
valubel?  That  ain't  bisnes,  and  it  ain't  politercal  ekon- 
ermy,  and  it  ain't  reform,  and  it  ain't  Demerkratic,  not 
by  a  long  shot.  It 's  waste;  it 's  extra vagans;  it 's  the 
rankest  kind  of  spendthrifty;  it 's  down  rite  Kepublik- 
anism,  which  hain't  got  no  plan  in  a  administration 
that 's  krawlin'  bak  to  Jeffersonian  simpleness  as  fast 
as  it  ken  go. 

I  've  ben  reedin'  the  report  of  the  postmaster  gin- 
eral,  and  it  brung  tears  to  my  ise.  Think  what  a  state 
of  debauchery  &  riotin'  it  reveals.  Think  of  the 
millions  it  shoze  was  wasted  in  postag  stamps  last  yere, 
&  most  of  'em  yoused  on  luv  leters  and  friendly 
epistols  and  dunin'  leters  that  did  n't  amount  to  shuks! 
Think  of  the  trouble  that 's  corsed  by  leters;  how  mis- 
rybel  you  be  when  sum  one  rites  you  that  yure  ant  is  ded 
without  levin'  you  a  sent,  or  your  best  girl  has  been 
scooped  fer  steelin',  or  yure  wif  has  give  birth  to  trip- 
lets that 's  doin'  well.  Forty  millions  a  yere  fr  postag 
stamps  &  half  uv  it  pade  by  the  workin'  classes.  Who 
wonders  that  times  is  hard?  that  strong  men  go  about 


76  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

the  stretes  cryin'  for  beer  and  smal  boys  is  driv  to 
steelin'  sigarets?  And  all  this  mischief  is  the  fruits  of 
the  Republikan  policy! 

When  the  Demerkrats  was  fired  out  in  sixty  thare 
want  no  such  rekord  as  this  behind  'em.  They  did  n't 
enkuridge  peeple  to  spend  thare  time  writin'  leters  and 
waste  thare  substance  on  postag  stamps.  Bet  yu're  life 
they  didn't!  But  when  the  republikans  ketched  on 
with  thare  blab  about  educating  the  mases  and  thare 
nonsense  about  enlitenin  the  peeple  with  thare  postal 
cars  &  thare  letur  carriers  and  thare  chepe  postag  & 
all  thare  uther  insentivs  to  vise  and  krime;  when  they 
begun  to  teche  the  doktrin  that  a  nigger  mite  rite  al 
the  leters  he  wanted  too,  and  that  the  white  man  who 
kuld  n't  rite  wan't  quite  so  good  as  a  nigger  who  could, 
foks  jist  went  recles  and  bloed  thare  ernins  into 
postag.  Think  of  it,  old  man,  &  wep,  for  you  're  wun 
of  the  guilty  wons. 

But  I  'm  wanderin'.  It  harrers  up  my  hart  so  to 
see  our  beluved  kountry  bledin'  at  every  pore,  and  bein* 
robed  of  its  recources  bi  the  post-offis  vampires,  that 
my  feelin's  run  awa  with  me. 

To  resoom!  Don't  let  enny  feller  that  I  oe  think 
this  menes  I  've  resoomed  payment,  for  I  ain't  that 
kind  of  a  bank,  &  I  skorn  to  deseive  a  man  that 's 
trusted  me — but  to  return,  to  get  back  to  whare  I 
started,  that 's  what  I  mene. 

I  have  n't  writ  you  fer  a  long  spel,  becos  I  did  n't 
want  nothin'  of  you  &  I  don't  want  you  to  get  nothin' 
of  me.  Probly  you  don't  kno  whare  I  be.  Mebbe  you 
don't  kare.     But  if  you  kum  to   Washington  &  run 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  77 

your  ey  along  Pennsylvania  avenue,  you  '11  see  a  sine 
that  reads  thus: 

HOOSEAR  HIGGINS  and 
Mind  Readers  and 

That's  me,  or  the  first  end  of  it  is,  &  the  rest  is 
Higgins,  the  appointment  klerk,  known  in  all  reform 
eurkles,  &  in  every  farro  bank  in  Baltimore.  Our  charge 
varies  accordin'  to  the  resources  &  softnes  of  the  kus- 
tomer. 

I  was  developed  into  a  mind  reder  in  this  way:  When 
I  cum  on  here,  after  the  trustees  of  the  Agricultural 
Collidge  at  Hanover  voted  I  was  too  brite  to  be  a  pro- 
fesor  in  that  institushun,  I  was  n't  exatly  rolin  in  welth, 
least  wise  I  wasn't  mistook 'for  Vanderbilt  on  the 
stretes,  nor  in  the  banks,  &  the  hotel  keepers  would  n't 
hev  me  enny.  I  told  'em  I  was  a  statesman  watin  to 
be  caled  to  a  important  &  lucrytiv  offis,  but  they  sed 
that  kind  of  ded  beets  was  the  wurst  thare  was,  &  it 
was  no  go;  ditto  in  the  barrooms  and  every whare.  So 
I  hed  to  do  sumthin',  and  as  I  was  egeing  up  to  a  New 
Hampshire  man  to  ask  him  to  sho'  me  the  way  to  the 
fre  lunch  kounter  whare  he  boarded,  I  herd  him  say, 
"I  'd  giv  ten  dolars  to  know  jest  what  Al.  Sulloway 
thinks  about  this  bisnes."  "And  what 's  your  name," 
sed  I,  turning  sharp  at  him.  "Daniel  Harriman,"  sed 
he.  "And  what  offis  do  you  want,"  sed  I.  "I  want  to 
be  postal  clerk  on  the  Northern  raleroad,  and  I  've  got 
tu  be  or  thare  won't  be  no  more  Democrat  representa- 
tives from  our  toun,"  sed  he.  "Wei,"  sed  I,  "If  you 
mene  bisnes  and  want  to  giv  ten  dolars  to  kno'  jist  what 
Al.  Sulloway  thinks  about  you,  hand  over  yure  stuf 


73  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITMQS  OF 

and  I  '1  give  it  to  you  strate,  for  I  slept  over  Al.  in  the 
car  comin'  on  last  nite  and  he  kept  the  passengers  wild 
meditatin'  over  yure  case.  All  nite  long  he  kept  gronin' 
and  calm'  yure  name,  &  before  mornin'  he  giv  himself 
awa'  kompletely."  Wei,  I  got  that  ten  dolars  &  if 
he  did  n't  get  his  munney's  worth  of  lys  dun  up  in  the 
hiest  stile  of  the  art  I  ain't  no  good.  He 's  now  watein' 
on  a  farm  in  Danbury  for  the  blosoms  of  Al's  mind  to 
bare  frute,  but  that  ain't  mi  hunt.  I  wish  him  wel,  fur 
he  opened  up  to  me  al  the  gloryous  possibilities  of  a  mind 
reder  in  these  das  when  nobody  taks  stok  in  what  yu 
say  and  every  body  wants  a  expurt  to  dig  into  yure 
mind  &  se  how  much  you  're  lyin. 

The  next  day  I  met  Higgins  &  unfolded  mi  plan 
fur  openin'  a  mind  reder's  shop,  &  falin  into  transes, 
&  furnishing  infurmation  to  offis-sekurs.  He  sed: 
"Wel,  I  like  yure  style;  I  '1  get  my  close  cut  by  yure 
mesure;  I  '1  hev  yu  set  fur  my  fotograf ;  but  who  are 
yu  and  whared  you  cum  from?"  I  sed,  "Hig,  I  'm  the 
sole  survivor  of  a  family  of  ate  bootyful  boys  that  per- 
ished electin'  Cleveland.  Three  went  from  the  St.  John 
side  show,  to  the  inebryates'  home,  two  is  in  jale  for 
ilegal  votin',  one  was  hooted  from  the  kountry  fur 
marchin'  with  the  Harrington  Guards  of  Manchester, 
&  one  was  elected  to  the  New  Hampshire  Legislature." 

"Yes,  but  what  did  yu  do?"  sed  Higgins.  "I  gunned 
the  rest.  I  dyed  for  my  kountry  by  proxy.  Thare  aint 
nothin  mene  about  me  &  I  w'uld  n't  rob  my  bruthers 
of  the  post  of  danger  and  glory."  This  catched  Higs 
&  he  sed:  "You'll  do.  Yu've  staad  up  North  too 
long.    You  ort  to  be  in  the  cabinet.    You  may  go  with 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  79 

me."    Afterwards  we  took  in  Brown  &  arranged  the  de- 
tailes  &  here  I  be. 

HOOSEAR. 

N.  B.  Don't  kum  out  to  se  me.  I  'm  not  keepin 
a  hotell,  but  if  enny  of  the  boys  wants  a  mind  red  to 
'em  let  'em  send  me  a  lock  of  thare  hair  &  five  dolars. 


The  Human  Woodchuck. 

Are  your  outside  windows  on?  Is  your  storm-porch 
in  place?  Are  your  doors  well  supplied  with  weather- 
strips? Is  your  furnace  working  well?  In  a  word,  have 
you  taken  all  those  precautions  against  the  admission 
into  your  houses  between  this  time  and  next  May  of 
a  single  breath  of  clear,  cold,  pure  air  that  has  n't  been 
driven  through  a  tunnel  and  then  baked?  Of  course 
you  have.  Nobody  neglects  these  things  in  these  days 
of  high  civilization. 

Again:  Have  you  arranged  it  so  that  during  the  six 
months  to  come  your  wives  and  daughters  will  not  be 
compelled  to  go  beyond  the  reach  of  the  air  bakery 
you  have  in  your  cellar  or  in  each  room,  so  that  under 
no  circumstances  will  any  of  them  be  subjected  to  con- 
tact with  the  crisp  breath  of  winter  again? 

Of  course  a  man  who  has  any  business  must  of  neces- 
sity go  out  of  doors  some.  If  he  be  thoroughly  civil- 
ized he  will  go  very  little,  scudding  from  his  house  to 
his  shop  or  office  in  the  least  time  possible,  and  using 
every  known  device  to  keep  fresh  air  from  his  lungs, 
and  when  he  is  under  cover  he  will  take  his  revenge  for 


80  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

being  compelled  to  go  out  at  all  by  toasting  himself 
brown  in  a  heat  so  sultry  and  dry  that  no  animal  but 
a  man  would  live  in  it  a  week.  Still,  as  we  have  said, 
being  a  man  he  cannot  escape  living  in  the  open  air  a 
few  minutes  each  day;  but  his  women  folks  are  more 
favored.  Nothing  compels  them  to  go  out,  and  so  they 
stay  in,  except  possibly  in  the  finest  of  weather,  and 
from  November  until  May  no  wintry  blast  will  kiss 
their  pale  cheeks,  take  liberties  with  their  fragile  forms, 
or  find  its  way  down  their  delicate  throats.  To  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  they  are  as  much  buried  during  the 
winter  as  any  of  the  hibernating  animals. 

Now  this  is  all  very  comfortable,  but  we  guess  it 
is  n't  the  highest  wisdom.  Man,  even  in  his  most  civil- 
ized state,  is  n't  a  bear  or  a  woodchuck  nor  yet  a  chip- 
munk, that  he  should  flee  to  a  den  and  spend  the  win- 
ter sucking  his  claws  or  munching  chestnuts.  Neither 
his  body  nor  his  mind  was  made  for  any  such  business. 
It  is  one  of  the  laws  of  his  being  that  he  cannot  live 
in  a  healthy  condition  without  sunshine  and  pure  air, 
and  when  he  deprives  himself  of  these,  in  summer  or 
winter,  his  nerves  go  crazy,  his  heart  becomes  weak  and 
his  lungs  torpid,  aches  and  ails  creep  over  and  through 
him,  and  he  becomes  a  most  miserable  apology  for  what 
a  stalwart,  healthy  man  ought  to  me.  Not  only  this, 
but  his  head  becomes  stupid  and  heavy,  and  his  brains 
are  worth  about  as  much  as  a  calf's  after  they  have 
been  cooked,  and  no  more. 

It  is  a  serious  fact  that  Americans  are  steadily  educat- 
ing and  civilizing  themselves  into  a  nation  of  invalids 
and  weaklings.     We  are  no  longer  able-bodied.     Some- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  81 

thing  ails  all  the  men,  and,  as  for  the  women,  their 
bodies  are  little  more  than  camping-grounds  for  whole 
colonies  of  aches  and  weaknesses  of  every  name  and 
nature.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  residents  of 
cities,  where  a  thoroughly  healthy  woman  is  rare  enough 
to  be  a  curiosity. 

In  bringing  us  to  this  pass  our  habits  during  the 
winter  season  have  had  much,  to  do.  The  shrinking 
dread  of  cold  air,  the  ignoble  love  of  well-warmed  lazi- 
ness, the  cowardly  notion  that  we  are  too  delicate  to 
bear  any  exposure,  and  the  whole  brood  of  similar  fan- 
cies, which,  keeps  us  hovering  round  a  furnace  register 
or  a  stove  all  winter,  have  made  sad  work  for  the  great 
body  of  American  men  and  women  who  live  in  cities; 
and  unless  in  this  respect  and  many  others  we  turn 
over  a  new  leaf,  we  might  as  well  make  our  wills,  be- 
queathing the  country  to  some  hardy  race  of  foreigners, 
and  be  buried.  The  painful  petering  out  of  the  Yankee 
race  cannot  be  pleasant  or  profitable.  But  the  cause 
suggests  the  cure,  which  is,  in  a  word,  outdoor  exercise; 
not  only  in  summer,  when  it  is  uncomfortable  staying 
in  the  house,  but  in  spring  and  fall  and  winter,  at  all 
times  and  at  all  seasons. 

There  will  not  be  five  days  so  cold,  nor  fifteen  so 
stormy,  that  it  will  not  do  a  woman,  properly  clad, 
more  good  than  hurt  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  out  of 
doors,  and  if  there  was  some  law  of  church  or  state  to 
turn  everyone  not  confined  to  her  bed  into  the  street 
for  two  hours  every  day,  spring  would  find  us  with 
much  fewer  invalids  on  our  hands  than  we  shall  have 
now. 


82  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

Get  out  of  doors.  If  you  own  a  team,  use  it;  if  not 
and  you  can  afford  it,  buy  one.  If  your  purse  is  short, 
patronize  the  horse  cars,  and  if  it  is  empty,  go  afoot. 
If  you  have  friends,  visit  them;  if  you  have  not,  go  and 
make  peace  with  your  enemies.  Go  up  street,  down 
street,  anywhere  and  everywhere.  Do  anything  to  get 
out  of  your  dens. 


Oom  Paul. 


Oom  Paul  was  one  of  the  strongest,  most  picturesque, 
and  most  admirable  characters  of  his  generation.  His- 
tory may  only  record  that  he  was  the  president  of  a 
little  republic  which  was  destroyed  by  Great  Britain. 
We  have  known  him  as  a  man  of  courage  that  feared  no 
odds;  of  patriotism  that  never  counted  cost;  of  faith  in 
God  so  intense  that  it  became  fanatical;  of  pious  devo- 
tion that  never  slept;  of  worldly  wisdom  and  shrewd- 
ness that  with  a  fair  chance,  would  have  commanded 
success;  as  the  hero  of  a  struggle  for  independence, 
that,  as  he  predicted,  staggered  humanity  before  it 
ended  in  the  subjugation  of  his  people;  as  the  organizer 
and  leader  of  a  handful  of  farmers  who  for  months  and 
years  held  the  British  empire  at  bay  and  beat  back 
the  hordes  that  British  greed,  ambition  and  treachery 
sent  to  crush  them. 

He  failed,  for  his  resources  were  as  nothing  compared 
with  those  of  the  invader;  but  we  know  of  no  more 
heroic  fight  for  Home,  Country,  and  God  than  he  and 
his  followers  made  in  the  mountains  and  on  the  plains 
of  the  Transvaal. 


BENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  33 


"Mr.  Destiny/' 

Said  the  youngster:  "Pa,  who  is  this  Mr.  Destiny 
that  the  papers  say  took  our  ships  to  Cuba  and  Porto 
Rico  and  the  Philippines  and  is  giving  us  all  those  is- 
lands and  folks  and  things?" 

Said  the  father:  "Listen,  my  son,  and  I  will  tell  you. 
There  was  a  man  named  Don  who  abused  his  family 
shamefully,  and  Mr.  Destiny,  who  lived  close  by  and 
was  a  humane  and  Christian  gentleman,  went  over  and 
kicked  in  the  door  of  Don's  house  and  told  him  he  came 
to  see  that  he  did  n't  pound  and  starve  his  wife  and 
children  any  more.  Then  the  two  had  a  fight  and  Des- 
tiny licked  Don  and  put  him  out  of  the  house,  and  after- 
wards he  looked  round  and  said,  'This  is  a  good-looking 
woman  and  these  are  bright  children.  All  they  need  is 
to  be  civilized  and  Christianized,  and  I  think  I  ought  to 
keep  them  for  mine.  And  this  house  is  a  good  one  and 
so  is  the  farm  it  stands  on,  and  I  '11  keep  them,  too, 
because  it  would  be  wicked  to  give  them  back  to  such 
an  old  pagan  as  Don,  and  if  I  left  them  the  other 
neighbors  would  fight  over  them.'  So  he  took  Don, 
who  had  n't  any  more  fight  left  in  him,  out  in  the  road 
and  made  him  deed  his  farm  and  folks  to  him,  and 
raised  the  Stars  and  Stripes  over  the  house,  and  issued 
a  proclamation  saying  he  did  it  all  in  the  name  of  hu- 
manity and  because  his  name  was  Destiny.  So  now, 
when  anybody  goes  out  and  grabs  things  that  don't 
belong  to  him  in  the  name  of  humanity  and  says  he 
can't  help  it,  the  papers  call  him  Mr.  Destiny." 


84  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 


The  Democratic   Leader. 

The  Democratic  candidate  for  speaker,  and  the  real 
leader  of  the  Democratic  side  of  the  house,  is  Albert  S. 
Batchellor,  who  lives  at  Littleton,  a  town  that  is  always 
represented  by  one  or  more  "big  Injuns"  of  the  Demo- 
cratic tribe.  He  is  twenty-nine  years  old  according  to 
the  family  Bible,  but  a  good  deal  older  than  that  in 
some  things.  He  was  born  in  Bethlehem,  fitted  for 
college  at  Tilton,  graduated  at  Dartmouth  in  1872,  read 
law  with  the  Binghams,  and,  on  being  admitted  to  the 
bar,  formed  a  partnership  with  George  A.,  which  con- 
tinued until  that  eminent  jurist  was  boosted  onto  the 
bench.  Since  that  time  Batchellor  has  paddled  his  own 
canoe  and  done  it  very  successfully.  They  call  him 
one  of  the  best  lawyers  in  Grafton  county.  This  is  his 
third  year  in  the  House,  and  few  men  ever  won  more 
friends  in  two  sessions  than  he  has  done.  With  such 
parentage,  surroundings,  teachings,  and  opportunites  as 
he  has  had,  he  is,  of  course,  an  uncompromising  Demo- 
crat, and  can  be  relied  on  to  do  as  much  mischief  in 
the  interests  of  his  party  as  anybody  else;  but  he  knows 
slavery  has  been  abolished,  has  always  been  proof  against 
the  greenback  heresy,  and  has  a  very  lively  apprecia- 
tion of  the  fact  that  his  folks  in  congress  have  been 
making  fools  of  themselves.  He  is  a  good  speaker,  but 
never  talks  unless  he  has  something  to  say, — except, 
of  course,  upon  the  previous  question, — is  a  good  par- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  85 

liamentarian,  quick  to  see  a  point  and  take  it,  and 
always  cool  and  good  natured.  Socially,  he  is  one  of 
the  best  and  most  popular  in  the  whole  three  hundred; 
frank,  jolly,  and  generous,  with  an  appreciation  of  the 
proprieties  of  time  and  place,  true  to  his  friends,  and 
ready  to  help  them  upon  occasion  without  their  asking. 
Altogether,  he  is  much  too  good  a  man  to  have  such 
poison  politics,  and,  when  he  marries  a  Republican 
wife,  we  hope  to  see  him  converted  to  the  true  faith,  and 
received  into  the  fold  and  sent  to  congress. 


Lightning  at  Close  Range. 

But  there 's  one  thing  about  Kensington  we  don't 
like — its  thunder  showers  are  overdone. 

In  the  discharge  of  our  duty  as  a  reporter  we  hope 
we  are  willing  to  do  and  dare  as  much  as  another,  even 
to  hunting  for  Livingstone,  interviewing  the  Shah,  or 
"going  up"  in  a  balloon  with  Professor  Wise;  but  when 
it  comes  to  interviewing  a  streak  of  red-hot  lightning 
and  reporting  the  mechanism  of  a  first-class  thunder- 
bolt we  would  rather  be  excused. 

Electricity  has  done  great  things  for  this  country — 
it 's  big  on  election  returns  and  market  reports,  and 
without  it  we  could  n't  raise  electric  eels  nor  telegraph 
operators;  but  to  bathe  in  or  to  drink,  it  does  n't  recom- 
mend itself  to  us — water  is  preferable,  and  even  whis- 
key, if  no  less  fatal,  is  at  least  slower.  Were  you  ever 
struck  by  lightning?  If  not  don't  hesitate  to  own  it, 
and  trust  to  us  to  tell  you  "how  it  feels." 


86  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

On  a  sultry  Sunday,  under  the  shade  of  a  spreading 
maple  in  your  host's  dooryard,  trying  to  catch  the  weak 
sea-breeze  and  watching  the  gathering  shower,  leaning 
against  the  tree  you  sit — ten  feet  away  you  lie.  It  is 
all  at  once — there  is  neither  space  nor  time  in  the  pas- 
sage. A  million  infinitessimal  needles  are  darting 
through  your  veins  and  losing  themselves  in  your  ex- 
tremities, eight  hundred  galvanic  batteries  are  running 
on  double  time  in  your  head;  your  joints  crackle  and 
snap,  your  bones  seem  charged  with  a  force  that  is 
bursting  them,  and  by  the  time  friends  pick  you  up  you 
think  you  are  an  Atlantic  cable  with  twenty  President's 
messages  running  through  you.  Then,  for  days  after- 
wards that  fearful  snap  is  ringing  in  your  ears — every 
time  you  move  your  joints  seem  to  be  separating  and 
your  flesh  creeping  off  your  bones,  and  you  look  care- 
fully to  see  if  you  have  not  resolved  your  body  into  its 
original  elements — gone  to  pieces. 

"All  at  once  and  nothing  first, 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst." 

Then  your  stomach  seems  to  be  crawling  up  to  swallow 
your  heart,  and  your  heart  appears  to  have  swallowed 
your  stomach,  and  it 's  uncomfortable  every  way.  But 
when  you  learn  that  the  lightning  went  straight  down 
the  tree  on  the  opposite  side  from  you,  shivering  the 
bark  and  boring  a  hole  among  the  roots,  you  feel  thank- 
ful that  there  are  two  sides  to  a  tree,  and  go  off  hunt- 
ing for  a  lightning-rod  man,  who  will  point  you  up  at 
twenty-five  cents  per  foot,  and,  if  you  are  the  philoso- 
pher you  ought  to  be,  congratulate  yourself  that  "it 's 
not  as  bad  as  it  might  be." 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  87 


The   State's  Money. 

"Those  who  want  the  public  money  will  not  fail  to 
present  their  cases.  It  is  for  us  to  protect  the  tax- 
payers. Every  dollar  we  vote  out  of  the  treasury  some- 
body must  put  in." — Governor  Floyd's  Message. 

It  is  a  strange  fact  that  this  is  exactly  and  without 
exception  true.  In  practice,  if  not  in  theory,  taxpayers 
are  utterly  regardless  of  the  amounts  voted  out  of  their 
pockets  by  legislatures,  and  at  the  same  time  in  order 
to  keep  the  assessment  of  their  property  for  purposes 
of  taxation  down  will  come  nearer  to  lying  and  cheat- 
ing and  swearing  falsely  than  in  any  other  business. 
The  bills  introduced  in  our  legislature  this  year  must, 
if  they  had  all  been  passed,  have  taken  from  the  treas- 
ury more  than  three  million  dollars  in  the  next  two 
years,  and  large  amounts  every  year  in  the  future.  They 
were  for  every  conceivable  purpose.  Stated  broadly, 
they  loaded  upon  the  state  almost  numberless  burdens 
which  individuals  found  it  inconvenient  to  bear,  or 
made  the  state  responsible  for  expenses,  which  no  one 
else  would  pay.  And  every  dollar  they  called  for  was  a 
dollar  added  to  the  taxes  of  the  people  of  New  Hamp- 
shire. But  what  taxpayer,  individual  or  corporate,  went 
to  Concord  to  protest  against  any  of  them,  to  ask  that 
the  appropriations  they  carried  be  cut  a  penny?  Not 
one  that  we  ever  heard  of. 

There  never  before  was  such  a  storm  of  outsiders  in 
Concord  trying  to  get  their  hands  into  the  treasury. 


88  SELECTIONS  F1W.U  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

From  the  standing  lobbies  of  Durham  and  Dartmouth 
colleges  down  to  the  poor  devil  of  a  newspaper  reporter, 
who  only  asked  for  a  hundred  dollars,  all  kinds  of  sup- 
pliants for  state  aid  were  in  evidence  every  day,  but 
never  one  who  asked  to  have  the  taxes  reduced.  Man- 
chester pays  more  than  one  seventh  of  the  state  tax  and 
the  proportion  is  steadily  increasing.  This  tax,  which 
was  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  during  Governor 
Bachelder's  administration,  is  now  fixed  at  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  which  will  not  pay  expenses  by  nearly 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  In  other  words,  the 
lavish  appropriations  of  the  last  three  years  have  doubled 
the  amount  that  must  be  levied  upon  Manchester  as  a 
city,  and  neither  our  city  government  nor  our  board  of 
trade  nor  the  Amoskeag  corporation,  our  largest  tax- 
payer, has,  so  far  as  we  know,  made  even  a  whispered 
protest.  Indeed,  we  have  never  seen  any  evidence  that 
any  of  these  parties  in  interest  have  given  the  subject 
attention  enough  to  know  whether  the  legislature  was 
doubling  the  state  tax  or  cutting  it  in  two,  and  the 
same  is  true  of  every  other  large  city  and  town  in  the 
state. 

This  is  not  because  they  do  not  or  may  not  know 
what  is  going  on  at  Concord.  Introduce  a  bill  authoriz- 
ing somebody  to  build  a  new  dam  on  the  Merrimack, 
which  by  a  remote  possibility  might  injure  a  Manchester 
enterprise,  and  our  corporations,  our  city  government, 
our  board  of  trade,  and  our  citizens  get  busy  in  a  day, 
rush  to  Concord,  and  organize  and  work  like  beavers  for 
its  defeat.  Propose  a  bill  requiring  the  state  house  em- 
ployees  to   keep    their   offices   open   forty    instead    of 


HENRY  MARCV8  PUTNEY.  89 

thirty-three  hours  a  week,  and  they  swarm  about  the 
members  with  the  most  piteous  appeals  against  such 
persecution.  Propose  another  fixing  the  salary  of  the 
official  stenographers  anywhere  near  what  they  could 
earn  in  private  employ,  and  the  whole  fraternity  goes 
into  convulsions.  Suggest  that  a  half-dozen  new  nor- 
mal schools  be  billeted  upon  the  treasury,  and  twice 
as  many  places,  our  own  included,  are  out  for  them  with 
arguments,  petitions,  and  all  the  devices  of  a  trained 
lobby.  Come  to  Concord  with  the  proposition  that  the 
trustees  of  Dartmouth  College  can  use  forty  thousand 
dollars  more  than  they  have,  and  that  the  state  should 
go  out  and  borrow  it  for  her,  and  all  the  professors 
and  alumni  labor  and  log-roll  until  the  grab  succeeds. 
Offer  any  kind  of  a  bill  or  resolution  that  takes  money 
from  the  treasury,  and  somebody  is  on  the  ground  to 
put  it  through  by  fair  means  or  foul.  And  so  on  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter.  Verily,  those  who  want  the  public 
money  do  not  fail  to  present  their  claims,  while  those 
who  pay  the  taxes  are  too  busy  or  too  indifferent  to  pay 
any  attention  to  the  matter,  although,  as  we  have  said, 
when  it  comes  to  dodging  taxes  the  best  of  them  can 
be  depended  on  to  do  their  utmost. 

Is  it  a  case  of  everyone's  business  being  nobody's? 
Or  is  there  such  abiding  faith  in  the  wisdom  and  integ- 
rity of  the  governor  and  legislature  that  it  is  assumed 
they  will  do  what  is  right,  having  constantly  in  mind 
that  what  they  vote  out  of  the  treasury  somebody  must 
put  in?  Whether  this  be  so  or  not,  the  appropriating 
powers  are  left  to  empty  the  state's  strong  box,  and 
then,  if  there  is  a  vacuum,  to  borrow  what  they  want 
without  let  or  hindrance. 


90  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 


The   Man  of  the  Hour. 

[The  following  is  a  reply  to  William  E.  Chandler's  letter  ad- 
dressed to  the  administrators,  assignees,  and  successors  of  the  Lincoln 
Club.  In  this  article  Mr.  Putney  brings  forward  the  name  of  ex-Sen- 
ator Chandler  in  connection  with  the  governorship — the  first  mention 
made  of  it.] 

Manchester,  N.  H.,  October  24,  1907. 

William  E.  Chandler,  Brevet  President  New  Hampshire 
Branch  of  the  Roosevelt  Ananias  Club: 

John  McLane  has  not  asked  me  to  reply  to  your  let- 
ter addressed  to  him  and  others,  upon  whose  doorstep 
the  Lincoln  Club  has  left  the  reform  cherubs  born  at 
2  a.  m.,  July  25,  1906,  in  the  headquarters  at  Concord. 
Neither  have  you  asked  me  to  join  you  in  exhortation 
or  advice.  But  I  like  you  first  rate.  Next  to  Artemus 
Ward's  Kangaroo,  you  are  the  most  "amoozing  Kuss"  I 
have  ever  met  in  literature  or  politics.  Yes,  I  love  you 
so  that  if  my  affection  does  not  cool  when  you  are 
eighty-eight  years  old  I  will  appoint  myself  your  "next 
friend,"  make  a  grab  at  your  fortune  at  the  expense 
of  the  county,  and,  when  the  court  fires  me  out,  go 
and  sit  at  the  mouth  of  your  tomb  and  wait  until  you 
arrive,  and  I  can  break  your  will  on  the  ground  that 
you  are  not  of  sound  mind,  which  I  can  prove  if  Gal- 
linger  is  alive.  Besides,  you  have  always  been  suspected 
and  often  charged  with  being  responsible  for  the  pain- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  91 

ful  perennial  pregnancy  of  reform  in  New  Hampshire 
and  for  her  multitudinous  progeny,  and  I  am  so  sur- 
charged with  a  desire  to  assist  you  in  assembling  them 
in  one  bunch  and  unifying  them  and  teaching  them  to 
sing  one  song  that  I  venture  some  suggestions. 

(1)  Owing  doubtless  to  your  occasional  visits  to 
Washington  to  discharge  the  duties  of  the  chairman 
of  the  Spanish  claims  commission,  and  serve  as  a  decoy 
duck  for  Ben  Tillman,  you  have  at  times  separated  from 
that  ever-flowing  fountain  of  exact  knowledge,  George 
H.  Moses,  and,  therefore,  are  not  fully  informed  as  re- 
gards the  true  inwardness  of  the  reform  movement  in 
this  state,  and,  first,  let  me  tell  you  that  the  Churchill- 
Eemick-Lyford  aggregation  is  nothing  if  not  individual; 
that  the  vaudeville  in  which  you  are  so  much  interested, 
because  all  the  ballet  dancers  look  like  you,  is  nothing 
if  not  a  variety  show;  that  over  the  door  of  the  head- 
quarters of  the  club  for  which  you  acted  as  midwife, 
and  whose  dissolution  you  so  bewail,  was  written  in  gold 
letters,  charged  to  Churchill, 

ASSORTED  PRINCIPLES. 

NO  TWO  ALIKE. 

WARRANTED   TO   SUIT   ALL   TASTES, 

GRIEVANCES,  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

SMALL  SIZES.    A  DOLLAR  DOWN  AND  A 

DOLLAR  A  MONTH. 

IF  YOU  DON'T   SEE  WHAT  YOU  WANT,  ASK 

FOR  IT. 

So  you  see,  my  dear  senator,  that  your  diagnosis  of 

the  troubles  that  beset  reform,  as  want  of  principles,  is 


92  SELECTIONS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

not  correct.  As  you  say,  they  also  lack  a  constituency. 
But  principles  they  have  had  to  burn  in  individual 
packages  from  the  beginning. 

(2)  You  are  equally  at  fault  when  you  call  the  roll 
of  the  faithful,  and  grievously  unjust  when  you  put  in- 
terrogation points  after  the  names  of  Streeter  and 
Hollis.  Does  any  one  reasonably  expect  them  to  crack 
their  throats  shouting  against  the  railroad  octopus  and 
the  Salem  racetrack  lobby  when  there's  nothing  in  it? 

Must  a  penitent,  in  order  to  show  his  sincerity,  be 
as  vociferous  on  wind  as  He  was  aforetime  on  retainers? 
Have  n't  they  "Coniston"  by  heart,  and  are  n't  they 
feeding  and  fattening  the  "gallant  leader,"  whose 
checks  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars  attest  his  devotion 
to  political  purity  and  his  abhorrence  of  office  holders, 
less,  of  course,  what  it  cost  to  hire  Dan  Remick  in  the 
last  campaign?  I  am  not  so  sure  about  Hollis,  who  is 
young  and  unseasoned,  but  I  will  vouch  for  Streeter  as 
a  square-edged,  kiln-dried  convert.  Neither  does  your 
treatment  of  that  devout  worshiper  of  the  rising  sun, 
the  Hon.  James  0.  Lyford,  please  me.  Is  it  his  fault 
if  the  sun  wobbles  now  and  then  and  goes  down  when 
his  almanac  says  it  should  go  up?  Is  he  to  be  scorched 
by  your  sarcasm  because  he  thought  there  was  an  eclipse 
when  the  returns  from  your  ward  four  caucus  came  in 
a  year  ago?     I  think  not. 

Your  omissions  are  quite  as  bad. 

Jack  Kelly,  your  fellow,  next  friend,  Henry  Robinson, 
and  Natt  Martin,  your  moral  advisers,  Frank  Challis, 
Mike  Meehan;  the  editors  of  The  Union,  Henry  H. 
Metcalf,  Davison,  Newman,  Dan  Remick,  and  the  other 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  93 

choice  spirits  and  specimen  reformers  whom  you  have 
tutored,  taken  to  your  bosom,  and  yanked  through  so 
many  reform  dances!  Why  are  they  barred  from  the 
roll  of  honor?  Why  are  they  obliged  to  stand  aside 
while  you  and  the  other  elect  essay  to  throw  the  cars 
off  the  track  and  save  us  from  the  maw  of  the  merger? 

I  subscribe  to  your  touching  tribute  to  John  McLane. 
You  brought  him  up  by  hand,  and  his  character  does 
you  credit.  You  gave  him  some  good  advice  and  I  hope 
he  will  take  it.  But  I  trust  he  will  not  be  impetuous 
and  rash  and  unnecessarily  expose  himself  when  the  bat- 
tle is  on.    If  he  should  perish  the  jig  would  be  up. 

You  think  Pillsbury  and  Churchill  should  have  got 
together  in  the  last  convention,  and  right  you  are. 
When  I  was  a  boy  I  read  of  two  beautiful  green  snakes 
who  settled  a  dispute  as  to  which  was  the  bigger  by 
seizing  each  other  by  the  tail  and  swallowing  and  swal- 
lowing until  there  was  nothing  left  of  either,  but  they 
were  unified.  I  have  always  thought  it  was  a  nice  way 
to  settle  their  differences,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  the 
act  reproduced  last  year  and  to  learn  from  Churchill 
that  "the  performance  is  now  going  on." 

Do  you  think  it  politic  to  remind  the  Honorable 
James  W.  Remick  that  when  he  was  your  "early  and 
avowed  choice"  for  United  States  senator  he  did  n't 
get  a  vote,  whereas  when  you  were  his  early  and  avowed 
choice  you  got  several?  Isn't  such  a  reminiscence  cal- 
culated to  chill  his  ardor?  Is  n't  it  likely  to  handicap 
the  intermittent  candidacy  of  Streeter,  whom  you 
promise  to  support  when  his  probation  is  ended,  if  he 
makes  good? 


94  SELECTIOyS  FROM   THE  WRITINGS  OF 

To  return  to  your  stock  in  trade,  or  assets  in  bank- 
ruptcy, as  you  prefer,  that  is,  your  assorted  principles, 
there  is,  as  I  have  said,*  no  lack  of  variety,  and  the 
only  question  is,  which  shall  be  used  in  building  a  plat- 
form so  free  from  splinters  and  nails  that  you  can  all 
stand  on  it  with  bare  feet. 

Of  course  you  have  "Old  Paramount,"  the  railroad 
issue,  and  a  new  eruption  or  horror  in  the  shadow  of 
the  merger  will  be  timely  and  ought  to  be  popular, 
especially  with  Boston  &  Maine  stockholders,  who 
tumbled  over  themselves  to  exchange  their  holdings  for 
New  York  &  New  Haven  in  order  to  make  ten  dollars 
a  share,  only  to  discover  later  on  that  they  might  have 
made  the  exchange  in  open  market  with  a  large  margin 
the  other  way.  Then  there  is  the  taxation  problem, 
and  it 's  easy  to  get  together  on  that.  We  will  all  agree 
that  some  way  should  be  devised  to  make  the  million- 
aires, whose  enormous  accumulations  are  invested  in 
Washington,  St.  Louis  and  other  foreign  countries,  but 
who  come  here  to  reform  us  and  rule  over  us,  pay  more 
than  poll  taxes  and  automobile  licenses. 

The  office-holding  question  is  more  complicated. 
Your  plank, 

"EVERY  MAN  FOR  AN  OFFICE; 

AN  OFFICE  FOR  EVERY  MAN  AND 

SOME  WOMEN," 

without  which  you  think  your  party  will  be  small,  would 
doubtless  draw  recruits,  but  it  would  shock  and  repel 
others  whom  you  need  for  exhibition  purposes.  You  see 
a  good  deal  depends  on  the  style  you  display  and  the 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  95 

front  you  carry,  fitill,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  sooner 
or  later  they  will  need  a  candidate  for  governor,  and 
this  brings  me  to  the  crux  of  my  meditations. 

(4)  Chandler,  you  're  it.  And  I  suspect  you  know- 
it,  and  while  your  chronic  modesty  postpones  your 
announcement  until  you  can  break  it  gently  to  your 
fellow  patriots,  in  due  time  you  will  come  forth  pano- 
plied in  the  uniform  of  the  Later  Day  Crusaders  as  the 
Reformation  candidate  for  governor.  I,  for  one,  shall 
give  you  a  warm  welcome,  for  it  is  the  proper  caper. 
You  are  more  kinds  of  a  reformer  than  any  other  man 
in  New  Hampshire;  you  have  more  principles  than  a 
hedgehog  has  quills  and  they  are  all  adjustable;  you 
are  more  scared  of  the  octopus  than  any  other.  Your 
versatility  as  a  mischiefmaker  excels  any  other's.  You 
can  bear  trouble  with  equanimity  and  defeat  does  not 
sour  you.  You  are  a  strong  one  and  a  slick  one.  You  are 
the  "Man  of  the  Hour,"  without  portrait  or  poetry  or 
other  fifty  dollars  advertising.  You  are  to  the  manor 
born  and  have  lived  in  New  Hampshire  several  weeks 
every  year.  The  people  know  your  tricks  and  your  man- 
ners, and  delightful  as  they  are  will  not  be  deceived  by 
them.  Above  all,  when  they  get  you  into  the  conven- 
tion you  will  not  quit  and  run  away. 

For  Governor — William  E.  Chandler,  of  the  "United 
Elements." 

HENRY  M.  PUTNEY. 


96  SELECTION'S  FROM  THE  WRITIXOS  OF 


What  Jones  Can  Say, 

One  of  The  Union's  homemade  Concord  dispatches 
says  the  championship  of  the  Republican  state  conven- 
tion, for  which  Harry  M.  Cheney  had  been  selected 
before  he  fell  outside  the  breastworks  in  the  Lebanon 
caucus,  may  go  to  Hon.  Edwin  F.  Jones  of  this  city. 

Mr.  Jones  is  a  very  capable  and  experienced  presid- 
ing officer,  but  he  cannot  fill  two  roles  at  once,  and  as 
it  is  said  he  has  been  selected  to  present  the  name  of 
R.  W.  Pillsbury,  candidate  for  governor,  it  does  not 
seem  that  he  can  be  spared  to  wield  the  gavel  and 
announce  the  nomination  of  Quinbv.  We  shall  not 
apply  to  him  for  advance  copies  of  the  President's 
speech  and  as  to  what  he  will  say  when  he  launches 
the  apostle  of  progressive  politics.  We  can  only  guess; 
but  it  may  well  be  something  like  this: 

Fellow  Citizens: — For  the  purposes  of  this  case 
I  am  a  Reformer.  Don't  laugh!  As  the  tried  and 
trusted  attorney  of  the  octopus,  otherwise  known  as  the 
Boston  &  Maine  Railroad;  the  counsel  and  representa- 
tive of  the  Amoskeag  Manufacturing  Company,  the 
Arkwright  Club  of  Boston,  and  the  New  Hampshire 
Traction  Company;  the  partner  and  fellow-worker  of 
Streeter  in  the  pleasant  and  profitable  occupations  of 
the  late  lamented  railroad  and  racetrack  lobbies,  hav- 
ing been  allowed  a  day  off  by  my  regular  clients,  I  appear 
before  you  to  present  as  a  candidate  for  your  support 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  97 

the  peerless  apostle  of  progressive  principles,  the  arch 
enemy  of  all  octopuses,  the  foe  of  the  lobby  and  scrap- 
per with  the  machine,  the  would-be  Honorable  Rose  W. 
Pillsbury  of  Londonderry. 

Again,  don't  laugh!  Eemember  the  versatility  of  my 
talents,  the  necessity  of  my  client,  and  consider  that 
lawyers  must  live.  I  come  to  tell  you  of  the  great  and 
varied  assortment  of  principles  he  carries  and  to  assure 
you  of  his  willingness  to  adapt  them  to  all  your  wants 
and  wishes.  "If  you  don't  see  what  you  want,  call  for 
it"  is  the  sign  on  our  store. 

And  I  bring  with  me  from  the  Queen  City  to  assist 
in  this  labor  of  love  and  duty  and  profit  my  partner  and 
associated  "hireling,"  Robert  L.  Manning,  those  devoted 
champions  of  union  labor,  Harry  P.  Ray  and  H.  A. 
Trull,  and  cultured  Greeks  without  number. 

We  come  to  make  affidavit  that  our  candidate  came 
into  this  world  with  the  state  seal  as  a  birthmark;  that 
he  cried  for  it  as  a  child,  fought  for  it  as  a  youth,  and 
is  determined  to  have  it  to  play  with  regardless  of 
methods,  expense  or  consequences,  and  that  if  you  do 
not  let  him  have  it  his  great  heart  will  break  into  junk 
and  his  ghost  will  shake  its  gory  locks  at  you  and  shriek, 
"You  did  it." 

May  it  please  the  court,  the  plea  of  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar  is  "Not  guilty."  Later  we  may  ask  to  amend 
by  adding  by  "reason  of  insanity."  We  are  prepared 
to  show  that  he  is  not  a  Judas,  circumstances  and  the 
confessions  of  Remick  and  Churchill  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding.  We  can  convince  you  that  if  he  is 
guilty  there  are  extenuating  circumstances.  But  I  am 
wobbling  a  bit. 


98  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITIXVS  OF 

To  return:  I  am  here  to  tell  you  on  my  honor  that 
he  is  a  very  affectionate  man;  that  his  blood  has  been 
analyzed  and  is  thicker  than  water  and  that  his  love 
for  his  old  schoolmates  is  one  of  the  cherished  traditions 
of  Derry. 

I  am  here  to  tell  you  that  he  is  a  very  liberal  man; 
that  his  benefactions  in  Manchester  have  enabled  hun- 
dreds of  our  citizens  to  face  a  winter  of  plenty  when 
but  for  him  the  high  price  of  coal  might  have  been 
troublesome. 

Your  Excellency  and  Members  of  the  Honorable 
Council,  we  come  to  petition  not  for  justice  but  for 
mercy.  We  beg  of  you  to  let  him  go.  He  is  not  half 
as  terrible  as  he  talks.  He  is  not  half  as  savage  as  he 
looks.  If  he  eats  a  railroad  commissioner  for  breakfast 
every  morning  it  is  only  because  they  are  tender  and  his 
appetite  is  delicate.  Set  him  free  and  Brother  Bur- 
roughs will  take  him  home  and  guarantee  his  docility. 

But  I  am  off  my  trolley  again.  Gentlemen,  if  Mr. 
Pillsbury  is  elected,  he  will  not  take  away  my  pass  nor 
any  other  man's.  He  will  not  fling  back  his  own  into 
the  faces  of  the  railroads  on  which  he  rides  free.  He 
will  not  impose  crushing  taxes  upon  corporations  as  long 
as  the  Union  Publishing  Company,  with  a  capitaliza- 
tion of  $122,000,  is  valued  for  purposes  of  taxation  at 
$16,500.  He  will  make  it  easy  and  pleasant  for  every 
one. 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Judiciary  Com- 
mittee, I  submit  there  is  no  call  for  legislation  affecting 
the  business  of  Xew  Hampshire  corporations.  It  stands 
to  reason  that  they  know  their  business  and  don't  need 


HENRY  MARCUS  PVTXEY.  99 

your  help  in  managing  it.  It  goes  without  saying  that 
in  this  land  of  liberty  they  should  be  free  to  make 
their  hours  what  they  please,  to  hire  Greeks,  to  have 
every  chance  to  compete  with  rivals  in  other  states. 

Pardon  me  again.  I  forgot  for  the  moment  where 
I  am  at,  and  who  I  am  for  this  half  hour.  What  I  am 
retained  to  say  is  this:  Before  New  Hampshire  can 
take  her  place  among  the  purified  and  virtuous  sisters 
the  rails  of  the  Boston  &  Maine  Railroad  must  be  torn 
up  and  the  wheels  of  the  Amoskeag  company  must  be 
smashed  into  old  iron  and  corporations  must  be  abol- 
ished and  Churchill  and  Remick  must  be  furnished 
with  fiddles  on  which  to  play  "We  did  it,"  and  R.  W. 
Pillsbury  must  be  created  overlord  of  the  territory, 
restored  to  its  primitive  beauty  and  pristine  simplicity. 

What  are  the  objections  to  Mr.  Pillsbury?  They  tell 
us,  "There  is  no  real  sentiment  for  him."  Look  at 
Henry  Hurd!  Isn't  he  real  sentiment,  all  wool  and 
a  yard  wide  for  one  ballot?  If  he  isn't,  what  is  he? 
Look  at  Perley  Elliot!  Is  n't  he  the  real  thing  when  it 
comes  to  sentiment?  Look  at  Sherm  Burroughs!  Is  n't 
he  the  incense  of  aesthetic  sentiment?  Look  at  Man- 
ning! Look  at  me!  Aren't  we  sentimental?  If  we 
know  ourselves  we  are. 

They  tell  us  he  would  be  an  unsafe  governor.  Un- 
safe? With  Fowler  and  Nichols  and  Burnham  and 
Naxon  and  Hyde  and  the  other  high-priced  and  brainy 
Democrats  he  has  hired  to  tell  him  what  to  do  and 
when  to  do  it! 

Perish  the  thought! 

Brother  Republicans,  reform  is  in  the  air  and  the 


100         SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

Pillsbury  cart  is  hitched  to  it.  If  it  is  not  upon  earth 
it  is  because  there  is  no  need  of  it  there.  Look  aloft 
and  you  can  see  it.  Stretch  your  ears  and  you  can  hear 
it.  Expand  your  nostrils  and  you  can  smell  it.  Don't 
mistake  it  for  a  balloon  filled  with  hot  air.  Don't  shoot 
at  it  with  a  gun.    Wait  for  it  to  come  down. 

Parables  aside — Don't  disembowel  Reform  in  the 
person  of  R.  W.  Pillsbury;  nominate  him  for  governor. 
Forgive  him  as  I  do  for  a  consideration,  for  what  he 
has  done  and  has  not  done,  and  let  the  people,  the  dear 
people,  the  sovereign  people,  do  things  to  him  at  the 
polls. 

Gentlemen,  the  task  for  which  I  was  employed  is 
done.  I  go  to  shed  a  tear  over  the  result,  but  let  no 
man  dare  accuse  me  of  insincerity. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  101 


Charles  T.  Means, 


The  Tribute  of  a  Friend. 


In  the  death  of  the  Hon.  Charles  T.  Means  is  lost  a 
public-spirited  citizen,  whose  genial  presence  can  ill 
be  spared  from  the  wide  circle  which  it  gladdened. 

A  keen  appreciation  of  human  nature  was  united  in 
him  to  a  rare  childlike  trustfulness,  which  led  him  to 
address  himself  confidently  to  the  higher  side  of  men. 
One  may  say  that  his  deep  desire  to  meet  men  at  their 
best  awoke  in  them  the  impulse  to  reveal  it,  and  therein 
may  be  found  a  partial  explanation  of  the  extraordi- 
nary affection  entertained  for  him  by  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men.  If  it  be  true  that  one  finds  what  one 
is  looking  for,  then  Mr.  Means'  charitable  estimate  of 
his  fellowmen,  his  never-failing  consideration  are  easily 
seen  to  have  been  sincere. 

Add  to  this  optimism  a  sympathy  which  thrilled  to 
every  creature's  joys  or  sorrows — as  distinctly  imagined 
as  though  they  were  his  own — and  it  may  be  readily 
conceived  that  his  widening  powers  and  generously  ap- 
plied opportunities  brought  him  in  close  touch  with 
many  lives. 

However  narrow  their  resources,  his  associates  were 
always  able  to  give  him  something  that  he  prized,  for 
his  nature  craved  true  love  and  kindly  demonstration. 
The  affection  of  a  child,  the  devotion  of  a  servant,  was 
as  highly  prized  as  any  of  the  civic  honors  conferred 


102  SELECTIONS  FROU  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

upon  him,  and  the  last  words  of  an  idolized  mother — 
that  he  had  never  given  out  a  moment's  uneasiness  in 
his  life — were  treasured  above  wordly  plaudits. 

To  many  he  is  best  known  by  some  sapient  remark 
or  quaint  painting  of  a  situation  in  a  word  picture  so 
piquant  that  it  slipped  at  once  into  general  circulation. 

It  was  easy  to  forget,  when  seeing  him  in  his  boyish 
moods  of  relaxation,  that  an  exact,  enterprising,  clear- 
headed, business  talent  lay  beneath  that  frolicsome 
exterior. 

Pre-eminently  a  man  of  affairs,  entrusted  with  mani- 
fold responsibilities  strictly  fulfilled,  what  he  did  he 
did  well,  with  the  pugnacity  of  a  man  who  never  accepts 
defeat. 

To  all  the  old-time  virtues  characteristic  of  New  Eng- 
land's successful  men  was  joined  the  artistic  tempera- 
ment, not  of  a  producer,  but  of  a  lover  of  the  beautiful. 
His  joys  in  the  face  of  nature  never  flagged.  Her  woods 
and  fields,  her  byways  and  secret  haunts  printed  the 
calendar  of  the  fleeting  months  upon  his  heart  and 
often  brought  to  the  threshold  of  his  lips  the  utterance: 
"How  amiable  are  thy  tabernacles,  0  Lord  of  Hosts!" 
All  birds  he  knew,  all  trees,  and  largely  of  the  flowers. 
And  the  old  melodies  he  loved  and  the  fine  phrasing 
of  Saxon  scripture. 

Devotion  to  family  ties  was  with  him  a  passionate 
cult,  and  loyalty  to  friends  no  less  intense.  Few  men 
in  middle  life  could  boast  so  many  affectionate  friends 
among  women  older  than  himself.  To  these  there  will 
come  a  personal  affliction  in  the  loss  of  one  who  glowed 
with  pleasure  at  the  chance  to  do  them  a  service. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  103 

In  all  the  relations  of  life  he  rang  true, — a  true  man; 
true  to  home,  to  friend,  and  to  civic  duty.  Beloved  and 
trusted  by  all  he  is  universally  mourned  and  regretted. 


Bishop  Bradley. 

The  best  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Bishop  Denis  M. 
Bradley  is  the  universal  feeling  wherever  he  was  known 
that  no  man  living  can  fill  his  place,  and  this  feeling 
cannot  be  deepened  by  any  attempt  to  state  the  reasons 
why  it  exists  and  pervades  the  communities  in  which 
he  lived  and  labored.  But  it  is  fitting  that  a  newspaper 
which  speaks  for  its  readers  should,  while  they  are 
bowed  by  their  sense  of  personal  loss,  say  something  of 
some  of  the  qualities  of  the  dead  clergyman  that  com- 
manded the  reverence  and  affection  of  his  own  people 
and  the  genuine  respect  of  all  our  citizens,  without 
distinction  of  creed,  condition,  nationality  or  calling. 
We  have  neither  command  of  language  nor  of  space  to 
try  to  do  more  than  this. 

Bishop  Bradley  was  a  great  man  and  he  was  a  good 
man.  He  did  a  great  work  and  did  it  well.  He  was  a 
power  for  good  in  his  generation  and  he  laid  deep  and 
strong  the  foundations  upon  which  his  successors  will 
build  the  temples  of  their  faith  and  establish  the  seats 
of  their  usefulness.  Born  in  a  humble  home,  lacking 
in  childhood  and  youth  the  advantages  that  money  and 
influence  could  have  given  him,  and  dying  when  little 
past  middle  age,  he  rose  to  the  highest  position  in  the 
Catholic  church  in  this  state,  and  accomplished  what 


104         SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

no  one,  at  the  time  he  entered  the  priesthood,  thought 
it  was  possible  for  any  man,  however  gifted  and  devoted, 
to  do.  The  upbuilding  of  that  church  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, the  organization  of  its  many  parishes,  the  gather- 
ing into  its  fold  of  its  tens  of  thousands  of  worshipers, 
the  accumulation  of  its  great  properties,  the  establish- 
ment of  its  numerous  schools  and  hospitals  and  homes 
were  for  twenty  years  under  his  direction  and  largely 
by  his  efforts. 

The  Catholic  church  is  an  autocracy.  Within  their 
respective  jurisdictions  its  heads  are  the  centers  of  re- 
sponsibility and  power,  and  its  condition  reflects  their 
capacity.  As  it  stands  in  New  Hampshire  today  it  is 
a  monument  to  Bishop  Bradley,  and  he  needs  no  other. 

His  spirituality  was  stamped  upon  his  face,  modu- 
lated his  voice  and  was  conspicuous  in  his  bearing.  It 
shone  in  his  acts  and  inspired  his  utterances.  His  greet- 
ing was  an  exhortation.  His  smile  was  a  benediction. 
And  yet  he  was  an  eminently  practical  man.  The  vast 
material  interests  of  his  church  were  managed  and  pro- 
moted with  remarkable  judgment  and  skill  and  his  ad- 
vice in  the  worldly  affairs  of  the  many  who  went  to 
him  for  counsel  was  always  safe  and  sound.  He  grew 
up  among  his  people  and  he  knew  their  character,  their 
habits,  their  needs  and  their  wants  collectively  and  in- 
dividually. He  sympathized  with  and  assisted  them  in 
their  misfortunes.  He  encouraged  them  when  they 
were  prosperous.  He  directed  them  when  they  were 
uncertain  how  to  go,  and  followed  and  led  them  back 
when  they  went  astray. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  105 

By  day  and  by  night,  in  sickness  and  health,  he 
worked  for  them.  If  he  had  a  weakness  it  was  his  in- 
ability or  unwillingness  to  assign  to  others  duties  which 
they  could  and  should  have  performed.  If  he  made  a 
serious  mistake  it  was  in  wearing  himself  out  carrying 
burdens  that  were  beyond  his  physical  strength  and 
that  others  should  have  borne.  No  one  was  too  poor, 
too  ignorant  or  too  debased  to  interest  him.  No  detail 
was  too  small  to  command  his  attention.  No  drudgery 
was  too  hard  for  him  to  perform  if  he  thought  he  could 
do  it  better  than  another.  The  widows  and  the  orphans, 
the  sick  and  the  wretched  were  the  objects  of  his  con- 
stant care  and  he  never  wearied  of  providing  for  them 
and  saving  them  from  becoming  public  charges.  He 
saw  that  the  boys  and  girls  were  educated  and  as  far  as 
possible  that  they  were  placed  after  leaving  school  where 
they  could  be  successful  and  useful. 

He  was  not  a  bigoted  man.  While  always  true  to  his 
religious  faith,  and  always  zealous  in  promoting  the 
growth  of  his  church,  he  quarreled  with  none  because 
they  did  not  accept  his  creed  and  was  willing  to  work 
with  whoever  was  trying  to  make  the  world  better. 

He  was  a  good  citizen.  His  great  influence,  which 
far  exceeded  that  of  any  other  man  in  the  state,  was 
always  exerted  for  good  government,  for  law  and  order, 
for  honesty  in  public  affairs,  for  healthful  progress,  and 
for  all  that  conserved  the  public  good.  He  never  lacked 
moral  courage  and  he  was  steadfast  in  support  of  his 
convictions,  paying  little  regard  to  clamor  or  entreaty 
when  once  he  had  taken  a  stand. 


106  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

He  lived  a  pure  and  blameless  life  gently  and  mod- 
estly, but  always  maintained  a  dignity  befitting  his  po- 
sition, and  so  conducted  himself  at  all  times  as  to  teach 
by  example  as  well  as  by  precept.  He  was  approach- 
able, patient  and  amiable,  even  when  his  time  was  being 
wasted,  and  there  were  none  who  could  say  aught 
against  him. 

Frank  Dowst. 

Of  the  sixty  thousand  people  in  Manchester  there  are 
very,  very  few  so  well  known,  so  highly  respected,  so 
sincerely  loved,  as  was  Frank  Dowst,  and  the  announce- 
ment that  he  is  dead  shocks  and  saddens  the  entire 
community.  All  who  knew  him  feel  that  they  have  lost 
a  friend;  all  who  know  what  he  did  during  his  busy  life 
in  Manchester  feel  that  the  place  he  occupied  cannot 
be  filled. 

For  at  least  twelve  years  he  had  been  a  sick  man, 
and  at  many  periods  had  suffered  severely,  but  only 
those  near  to  him  were  aware  how  much,  for  through  all 
the  clouds  of  illness  that  he  knew  would  sometime  be 
fatal,  and  of  physical  torture  that  would  have  crushed 
the  spirits  of  almost  any  other,  his  indomitable  courage, 
his  serene  hopefulness,  his  radiant  cheerfulness,  shone 
as  constantly  as  when  he  was  well.  No  complaint  es- 
caped him.  No  apprehension  that  he  might  not  live, 
that  his  business  might  not  prosper,  that  anything  det- 
rimental to  his  patrons,  associates  or  friends  might 
come  from  his  weakness,  ever  found  expression  by  his 
lips.    In  sickness  as  in  health,  up  to  the  last,  he  was  the 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  107 

same  sunny,  strong,  inspiring,  encouraging  personality; 
and  even  those  who  knew  by  how  frail  a  thread  his  life 
hung  were  not  prepared  to  hear  of  his  death. 

He  was  a  powerful  man  physically  until  an  accident 
crippled  him,  and  his  mental  faculties,  which  never 
weakened,  were  of  a  very  high  order,  because  they  were 
eminently  practical,  effective,  and  useful.  A  farmer's 
boy,  with  only  the  rudiments  of  an  education,  without 
influential  friends  or  money,  he  began  his  business  ca- 
reer as  a  carpenter's  apprentice  with  nominal  pay,  and 
from  this  he  rose  rapidly  to  be  the  real  head  and  master 
spirit  of  the  largest  company  of  contractors  and  build- 
ers in  New  Hampshire,  because  he  was  always  faithful, 
honest,  honorable,  capable.  Because  of  him,  and  the 
assistants  he  brought  around  him,  the  Head  &  Dowst 
Company  has  been  great,  prosperous,  and  successful. 
It  had  in  its  employ  hundreds  of  skilled  men,  who  all 
felt  that  its  interests  were  their  own.  It  had  fine  credit. 
It  was  able  to  gather  all  needed  material.  There  was 
no  contract  too  large  for  it  to  execute;  no  job  too  small 
for  it  to  do.  It  could  do  and  it  did  anything  and 
everything  in  the  line  of  construction,  and  whatever  it 
did  it  did  well.  When  once  a  price  was  agreed  upon 
there  was  no  consideration  of  the  profit  or  loss.  The 
work  was  delivered  according  to  the  contract,  or  better. 
That  was  Frank  Dowst.  Many  of  the  largest  and  finest 
structures,  not  only  in  Manchester,  but  in  other  parts 
of  New  Hampshire,  are  monuments  to  him  and  reflect 
his  solid,  well-rounded  character. 

He  had  wonderful  judgment.  It  was  said  that  he 
could  look  at  a  set  of  plans  and  judge  offhand  what 


108  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

the  cost  would  be  better  than  most  architects  could 
figure  them.  And  in  every  spot  and  place  he  seemed 
to  be  endowed  with  an  instinct  as  to  value?,  cost, 
and  results  which  never  went  wrong.  He  was  master  of 
his  calling.  He  knew  how  to  do  things,  and  he  knew 
when  they  were  well  done.  He  was  incapable  of  trick- 
ery, deceit,  sharp  practice  or  meanness  of  any  kind, 
and  he  abominated  all  who  tried  to  succeed  by  crooked- 
ness. He  was  the  most  modest  and  democratic  of  men. 
He  never  sought  an  office.  He  never  desired  promi- 
nence outside  of  his  business.  He  was  generous  to  a 
fault.  He  was  public-spirited  and  he  was  the  most 
loyal  and  profuse  of  friends  and  the  most  delightful 
of  associates.  He  did  a  great  deal  to  make  Manchester 
what  she  is  and  for  what  he  did  for  those  who  were 
fortunate  enough  to  be  intimately  connected  with  him 
there  is  no  measure.  Yesterday  there  was  but  one 
Frank  Dowst.    There  is  none  now. 


Mrs.  Aretas  Blood. 

She  went  about  doing  good.  With  great  wealth,  with 
social  position,  with  a  wide  circle  of  accomplished 
friends,  with  a  devoted  family,  with  everything  to 
tempt  her  to  confine  her  cares  and  activities  to  the 
fields  in  which  the  prosperous  and  the  happy  live,  and 
to  enable  her  to  command  for  herself  luxury  and  ease, 
she  turned  aside  to  the  unfortunate,  and,  without  neg- 
lecting her  duties  to  her  family  or  society,  made  it  her 
mission  to  heal  the  sick,  comfort  the  distressed,  clothe 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  109 

the  naked,  feed  the  hungry,  and  provide  homes  for  the 
homeless.  And  year  in  and  year  out,  until  at  a  great 
age  she  was  called  to  her  reward,  she  gave  herself  to 
this  work,  unreservedly,  bounteously,  quietly,  indus- 
triously, successfully.  She  was  the  good  angel  of  Man- 
chester. 

To  her  we  are  mainly  indebted  for  one  of  our  noble 
charities.  To  her  hundreds  of  our  deserving  poor  and 
sick  have  been  indebted  for  all  the  comfort  and  relief 
that  human  aid  could  secure  for  them.  Above  all  we 
are  indebted  to  her  for  an  example,  which  was  a  con- 
stant inspiration  to  others  who  were  able  to  give  and 
to  do,  and  a  promise  to  those  who  were  dependent  upon 
the  more  fortunate. 

She  was  a  good  woman  and  a  great  woman.  Good  in 
every  relation  of  life,  great  in  her  purposes,  her  meth- 
ods and  her  achievements.  She  was  respected  and 
loved,  almost  revered  while  she  lived,  and  her  memory 
will  be  tenderly  and  gratefully  cherished. 


Moody  Currier. 

The  long  list  of  New  Hampshire's  successful  and 
eminent  men  contains  few  if  any  names  that  are  en- 
titled to  precedence  over  that  of  ex-Governor  Moody 
Currier,  who  died  at  his  residence  in  this  city,  Tuesday 
noon,  and  there  is  certainly  no  other  whose  career  il- 
lustrates more  strikingly  the  rewards  that  are  open  to 
ability,  integrity,  industry,  and  perseverance.  ' 


110  SELECTIOXS  FROM  THE  WRITIXGS  OF 

Born  in  poverty  and  obscurity,  obliged  from  child- 
hood to  support  himself  by  manual  labor  upon  a  farm, 
and  to  obtain  what  primary  education  he  had  from  a 
few  stray  books  by  the  light  of  the  chimney  fire,  with- 
out material  assistance  or  even  encouragement  from 
relatives  or  friends,  with  no  money  except  the  few  dol- 
lars he  could  earn,  and  no  resources  except  what  were 
entirely  within  himself,  he  determined  to  secure  a 
college  training,  fit  himself  for  a  profession,  and  win 
his  way  by  hard  work  to  a  high  and  honorable  place 
among  the  great  men  of  his  state. 

Long  before  he  passed  away  he  had  succeeded  in 
everything  he  undertook. 

He  was  New  Hampshire's  greatest  scholar.  He  was 
one  of  her  ablest  financiers.  He  held  the  highest  po- 
litical honors  in  the  gift  of  her  people.  He  acquired  a 
fortune  and  contributed  largely  to  the  acquirement  of 
a  competency  by  others.  He  commanded  the  respect 
of  the  community  in  which  he  lived  and  the  confidence 
of  all  who  were  associated  with  him.  His  home  re- 
flected his  large  means,  great  learning,  and  cultivated 
tastes.  His  house  and  grounds  were  ornaments  of  the 
city  and  the  delight  of  all  admirers  of  substantial  archi- 
tecture and  floral  beauty.  His  family  idolized  him,  and 
in  his  declining  years  ministered  to  him  with  the  great- 
est watchfulness  and  tenderest  care. 

He  leaves  to  his  friends  a  record  which  is  to  them  a 
precious  legacy  and  to  all  an  inspiration.  He  was  the 
most  learned  man  with  whom  we  were  ever  acquainted. 
For  more  than  eighty  years  his  books  were  the  constant 
companions  of  his  leisure  hours.    He  never  read  merely 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  Ill 

for  amusement,  but  always  for  instruction.  Probably 
in  all  his  life  he  did  not  read  ten  works  of  fiction.  He 
read  slowly,  passing  nothing  which  he  did  not  under- 
stand, and  when  once  he  had  finished  a  volume  he  never 
forgot  what  it  contained.  His  knowledge  of  the  Bible 
surpassed  that  of  almost  any  New  Hampshire  man  of 
his  time. 

He  could  read  and  write  several  languages,  ancient 
and  modern,  and  was  a  master  of  pure  English.  He 
knew  science,  art,  and  literature.  He  was  versed  in 
philosophy,  astronomy,  geology,  botany,  and  natural 
history.  He  was  a  mathematician  of  a  high  order.  The 
geography  of  the  world  was  in  his  mind  and  the  world's 
history  was  familiar  to  him.  He  was  always  informed 
upon  current  events  and  new  inventions  were  the  sub- 
jects of  his  constant  study.  His  mind  was  a  storehouse 
of  rich  and  varied  knowledge  upon  nearly  every  sub- 
ject. 

And  yet  he  never  displayed  his  learning,  and  only  his 
intimate  friends  know  how  profound  and  extensive  it 
was. 

As  a  financier  he  had  no  superior  in  the  state.  In 
the  investment  and  management  of  capital  his  judg- 
ment was  seldom  at  fault.  The  moneyed  institutions 
which  he  founded  prospered  from  the  first  and  grew 
steadily  in  size  and  strength  until  they  stood  unshaken 
monuments  to  his  courage,  wisdom,  prudence  and  skill 
against  panics  and  depressions  and  all  other  adversities. 
There  are  no  wrecks  along  the  paths  through  which 
investors  followed  Moody  Currier.  He  was  a  public- 
spirited    citizen.     He   helped   lay  the   foundations   of 


112         SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

Manchester  and  build  the  superstructure  upon  them, 
and  whatever  in  his  judgment  promoted  her  prosperity 
commanded  his  support.  He  never  gave  because  others 
did.  He  never  tried  to  buy  notoriety.  He  never  pla- 
cated opposition  by  bribes,  but  for  the  causes  in  which 
he  believed  he  had  a  willing  hand  and  an  open  purse. 
He  was  a  man  of  very  decided  opinions  and  therefore 
a  strong  partisan.  From  the  birth  of  the  Republican 
party  he  was  one  of  its  most  courageous  leaders,  wisest 
counselors,  and  most  liberal  contributors.  He  held 
many  public  positions  and  displayed  in  all  of  them  the 
same  ability  which  was  so  conspicuous  in  his  private 
affairs. 

During  the  War  of  the  Rebellion  he  was  a  member  of 
the  governor's  council,  and  in  this  position  his  financial 
and  executive  ability  contributed  immensely  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  state  and  nation.  Probably  New  Hamp- 
shire was  more  indebted  to  him  than  to  any  other  man 
for  her  honorable  record  in  providing  money  and  men 
in  response  to  the  repeated  calls  of  the  government. 

As  governor  of  the  state  he  won  a  national  reputa- 
tion. His  state  papers  are  the  classics  of  our  official 
literature,  and  all  his  acts  were  such  as  to  steadily 
strengthen  him  in  public  confidence  and  esteem. 

He  was  a  generous .  patron  of  art  and  literature. 
In  his  religious  views  he  was  a  liberal.  Far  from  being 
an  infidel  he  rejected  the  creeds  and  ceremonies  and 
superstitions  of  past  ages  and  found  his  religious  home 
in  the  Unitarian  church,  of  which  he  was  a  firm  sup- 
porter. He  was  not  an  effusive  or  demonstrative  man. 
His  self-control  was  perfect  at  all  times  and  under  all 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  113 

circumstances.  He  was  always  calm,  deliberate,  and 
quiet.  He  never  sought  popularity.  He  never  contrib- 
uted to  sensations.  He  was  always  the  thoughtful, 
earnest,  steady-going,  self-reliant,  and  reliable  citizen. 
He  was  an  ardent  lover  of  nature  and  a  worshiper  of 
her  truth  and  beauty. 

His  companionship  was  delightful  and  helpful  to  all 
who  appreciated  solid  worth  and  enjoyed  sound  in- 
struction. 

His  example  showed  the  road  to  honorable  success 
and  was  an  invitation  to  whoever  was  strong,  ambitious, 
and  determined. 


Andrew  Bunton. 

Andrew  Bunton  was  a  rare  man.  In  some  respects 
his  equal  cannot  be  found  in  New  Hampshire.  He  filled 
a  peculiar  place.  He  was  not  what  the  world  calls  a 
great  man.  He  was  not  ambitious  for  place  or  power. 
He  never  sought  political  prominence.  He  did  not 
strive  to  amass  a  fortune.  But  he  was  so  great  hearted 
and  whole  souled,  so  loyal  and  faithful,  so  honest  and 
true,  so  industrious  and  so  capable,  so  ready  and  so 
helpful,  so  genial  and  so  cordial,  that  everybody  loved 
him.  His  business  and  his  society  associations  gave 
him  a  large  acquaintance  throughout  New  England,  and 
wherever  he  was  known  he  was  held  in  respect  and  af- 
fection. He  had  no  enemies,  for  he  was  no  one's  enemy. 
His  friends  could  not  be  counted,  for  he  was  the  friend 
of  all.    He  had  much  executive  ability  and  a  remarkable 


114         SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

faculty  for  doing  things  without  friction.  He  occupied 
a  responsible  place  and  filled  it  to  the  entire  satisfac- 
tion of  his  employers  and  the  public.  He  was  the  soul 
of  hospitality  and  good  fellowship  and  he  worked  as 
willingly  and  zealously  as  he  gave  freely  and  lavishly. 
He  was  always  called  upon  when  the  church  or  the  com- 
munity needed  financial  help,  sound  advice  or  patient 
devotion  to  details,  and  he  never  failed.  He  never 
turned  his  back  upon  a  friend  in  need. 

He  occupied  the  highest  position  in  the  Masonic  fra- 
ternity, and  it  was  universally  conceded  that  he  deserved 
it  by  his  constant,  earnest,  wise,  and  successful  efforts 
to  promote  the  welfare  of  the  order.  His  honesty  was 
never  suspected;  his  honor  was  never  tarnished.  He 
had  the  sunniest  of  dispositions.  He  never  lost  cour- 
age and  never  complained.  He  was  content  to  do  his 
duty  as  it  came  to  him  and  to  get  all  the  good  out  of 
life  he  could.  It  was  delightful  to  know  him  and  help- 
ful to  be  associated  with  him.  Good  men  have  lived 
with  him  and  good  men  will  come  after  him,  but  there 
are  very  many  who  will  read  that  he  is  dead  with  the 
feeling  that  we  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  115 


Because  he  was   True. 

He  was  a  black  man,  a  member  of  a  race  that  a  cen- 
tury ago  had  no  legal  rights  that  a  white  man  wa9 
bound  to  respect,  and  today  is  subject  to  the  prejudices 
and  resultant  hostility  that  condemns  it  in  most  parts 
of  our  country  to  ostracism,  persecution,  and  political 
vassalage.  He  never  held  an  official  position.  He 
never  aspired  to  leadership.  He  had  no  political,  social 
or  business  influence  which  anyone  invoked.  He  had 
no  known  relatives.  Solitary  and  alone,  without  kith 
or  kin,  modestly,  quietly,  he  fought  the  battle  of  life. 
He  had  acquired  no  riches.  He  was  not  known  as  a 
factor  in  the  commercial  or  industrial  world.  He  was 
a  mere  unit  among  the  millions  that  are  numbered  as 
the  human  race.  But  there  have  seldom  been  in  Man- 
chester more  impressive  funeral  services  than  those  that 
took  place  on  Saturday  afternoon  over  the  remains  of 
the  late  Con  Scarbor,  steward  of  the  Derryfield  Club. 
The  spacious  rooms  of  the  club  were  filled  with  an  as- 
semblage composed  of  the  representatives  of  most  of 
the  important  professions,  institutions,  industries,  and 
enterprises  of  the  city,  and  delegations  from  the  organ- 
izations which  he  had  served,  who  gathered  to  pay  their 
tribute  of  respect  and  affection  to  a  faithful  servant 
and  a  true  friend.  The  casket,  embowered  in  flowers, 
conveyed  no  impression  of  poverty  or  loneliness.  The 
simple  services,  conducted  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Lockhart, 


116  SELECTIONS  FROil  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

were  touchingly  appropriate.  And  when  they  bore  him 
away  to  lay  in  a  grave  to  which  neither  father  nor 
mother  nor  brother  nor  sister  nor  wife  nor  child  will 
ever  make  a  pilgrimage,  the  strong  men  who  were  there 
said  with  sad  hearts,  "Poor  Con!  We  cannot  fill  his 
place."    Because  he  was  always  true. 


Neil  Bancroft  Drew. 

Neil  Bancroft  Drew,  eldest  son  of  Hon.  Irving  W.  and 
Carrie  H.  M.  Drew,  of  Lancaster,  died  of  pneumonia 
at  the  residence  of  his  parents  and  the  place  of  his 
birth,  at  seven-thirty  in  the  morning  of  May  7,  at  the 
age  of  thirty-one  years,  after  but  one  week  of  illness. 

His  magnificent  physique  and  vigorous  constitution, 
in  the  early  stages  of  the  malady,  were  sources  of  hope 
for  his  early  recover}',  but,  though  attended  by  skilful 
physicians  and  trained  nurses,  and  supplied  with  all  that 
modern  medical  science  affords,  the  insidious  and 
treacherous  disease  could  not  be  baffled,  and  the  Reaper 
was  again  the  Conqueror,  just  as  the  birds  were  singing 
their  matin  songs  on  Sunday  morning. 

"The  robins  sang  in  the  orchard, 
The  buds  into  blossoms  grew; 
Little  of  human  sorrow 
The  buds  and  the  robins  knew." 

Mr.  Drew  was  a  man  of  broad  learning.  In  the  fields 
of  what  may  be  called  polite  literature  he  was  unusually 
well  read.  The  classics,  ancient  and  modern,  the  ro- 
mantic and  historical  novel,  as  well  as  current  litera- 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  117 

ture,  were  his  familiar  companions,  but  history  proper, 
ancient,  mediaeval,  and  modern,  was  his  forte,  unless 
perhaps  there  be  excepted  his  remarkable  aptitude  for 
mathematics. 

Endowed  by  birth  with  an  unusually  accurate  and 
perceptive  mind,  reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  books  and 
learning,  eager  to  learn  and  ready  to  grasp,  he  early 
acquired  an  enviable  reputation  as  a  young  man  of  un- 
usual attainments  in  the  fields  of  literature.  But  his 
knowledge  of  books,  as  such,  was  the  minor  part  of  his 
learning.  To  those  who  knew  him  well  he  was  a  per- 
petual source  of  wonder  for  his  marvelous  ability  in  re- 
calling, marshaling,  and  associating  facts, — facts  his- 
torical, social,  scientific,  pertaining  to  all  the  fields  of 
human  endeavor  and  progress. 

Essentially  a  home  body,  Neil  had  always  remained 
at  the  paternal  fireside,  and  though  never  admitted  to 
the  bar,  his  valuable  services  to  his  father  in  his  ex- 
tensive practice  had  so  familiarized  him  with  the  law 
that  he  was  well  grounded  in  its  principles. 

Of  ready  wit,  social  by  nature,  tenacious  of  his  ma- 
tured opinion  but  convincible  of  his  error,  stanch  to 
his  friends,  forgiving  to  those  who  gave  offence,  broad 
in  his  charities  of  things  material  as  well  as  of  things 
of  the  heart,  he  had  surrounded  himself  by  a  host  of 
friends,  who  mourn  his  early  and  sudden  demise. 

In  the  family  lot  in  the  beautiful  Summer-street  cem- 
etery, overlooking  the  broad,  green  fields  of  the  Con- 
necticut and  in  full  view  of  the  surrounding  hills,  along 
whose  banks  and  on  whose  slopes  his  happy  boyhood 
feet  had  trod,  amid  a  wealth  of  flowers  he  was  tenderly 
laid  to  rest  by  loving  hands. 


118  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 


A  Mourning  Nation. 

MAHK  HANNA. 

Never  before  was  an  American  congressman  carried 
to  his  grave  with  such  testimony  of  deep  and  universal 
grief  and  widespread  sense  of  personal  loss  as  has  at- 
tended the  funeral  ceremonies  over  the  remains  of 
Ohio's  great  senator.  As  the  nation  waited  anxiously 
for  tidings  from  his  bedside,  and  clinging  to  the  hope 
that  he  might  recover  while  his  life  ebbed  away,  so  it 
has  stood  reverently  sorrowing  while  he  has  been  borne 
back  to  his  home  and  laid  at  rest.  All  classes,  the  high 
and  the  low,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  employer  and 
the  wage  worker,  the  statesman  and  the  common  people, 
his  associates  in  business,  in  congress,  in  the  national 
committee,  his  political  opponents  and  his  party  co- 
workers, those  who  knew  him  personally  and  intimately 
and  those  who  had  never  met  him  and  knew  him  only 
because  of  the  service  he  had  rendered  his  party  and 
his  country,  have  in  one  way  or  another  paid  their  trib- 
ute of  confidence  and  admiration  over  Mark  Hanna's 
bier. 

He  was  not  president.  Eight  years  ago  he  was  un- 
known to  the  country  outside  of  his  own  state.  Only 
seven  years  ago  he  entered  public  life  as  a  senator,  and 
a  senator  he  remained,  putting  away  from  him  cabinet 
portfolios,  ambassador's  commissions,  and  all  other 
honors  that  a  president  could  tender  him.  He  led  no 
uniformed  army  to  victory.    He  fought  no  naval  battles. 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  119 

He  made  no  display  of  himself  on  any  field  or  in  any 
forum.  He  was  simply  a  citizen,  and  the  country 
mourns  him  as  its  first  citizen,  because  his  fellow-citi- 
zens, now  that  he  has  gone,  appreciate  him  and  do  not 
know  where  to  turn  to  find  the  one  to  fill  his  place. 
They  mourn  him  because  he  was  true  and  great,  re- 
sourceful and  forceful,  and  because  he  was  safe. 


Josiah  G.  Bellows. 

The  Hon.  Josiah  G.  Bellows  died  Sunday  at  his 
home  in  Walpole  in  the  sixty-fifth  year  of  his  age.  In 
the  autumn  of  1900  he  was  stricken  down  by  paralysis 
and  he  has  since  been  little  known  among  the  activities 
of  the  world  outside  of  Walpole,  but  his  mind  has  been 
unclouded,  and  surrounded  by  a  devoted  family  and 
loving  friends  he  has  waited  for  the  final  summons 
which  calls  him  hence. 

Judge  Bellows  was  born  on  the  farm  where  he  lived 
and  died,  of  pure  English  ancestry,  who  were  the  first 
settlers  of  that  section,  of  whom  he  was  very  proud, 
whose  traditions  he  cherished,  whose  descendants  were 
always  the  objects  of  his  interest  and  generous  care, 
and  of  whose  virtues  and  strength  he  was  a  grand  type. 
It  was  a  family  of  educated,  cultured,  broad-minded 
gentlemen  and  gentlewomen,  from  which  went  out  many 
of  the  ablest  lawyers,  most  honored  jurists,  and  most 
respected  citizens  that  have  been  known  in  New  Hamp- 
shire history,  and  among  them  all  there  was  no  nobler 
soul,  no  brighter  intellect,  no  more  lovable  character 
than  he. 


120         SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 

He  graduated  at  Harvard  and  the  Harvard  Law 
School,  traveled  extensively  in  the  old  world,  read  law 
with  Judge  Vose  at  Walpole,  and  upon  his  death  suc- 
ceeded to  his  business.  From  that  time  he  was  easily 
and  always  "Walpole's  first  citizen,  the  friend,  adviser, 
helper,  leader  of  all  her  citizens.  He  was  for  many 
years  the  treasurer  and  manager  of  the  Walpole  Savings 
Bank,  the  only  one  in  the  Connecticut  valley  that  did 
not  close  its  doors  during  the  depression  of  the  early 
nineties.  He  was  for  about  twenty-five  years  judge  of 
probate  for  Cheshire  county,  and  no  judge  ever  com- 
manded greater  measure  of  confidence  and  respect  than 
he  did  in  every  town  in  the  county.  He  was  one  of  the 
directors  of  the  national  bank  at  Keene,  whose  success 
reflected  his  prudence  and  judgment,  a  director  of  the 
Sullivan  County  railroad  and  a  master  spirit  in  church, 
town,  school,  and  social  affairs. 

For  none  of  these  positions  did  he  ask.  They  were 
offered  him  because  he  stood  out  before  all  others 
as  the  most  capable  who  could  be  secured  for  them. 
He  had  one  weakness,  his  great  modesty.  It  has  been 
often  said  that  this  kept  him  out  of  places  he  should 
have  had,  and  deprived  the  state  of  services  he  should 
have  rendered.  A  seat  upon  the  bench  of  our  supreme 
court,  an  election  to  congress,  and  the  governorship 
were  open  to  him  at  different  times.  Only  by  great 
importunity  was  he  induced  to  accept  an  appointment 
tendered  him  by  Governor  John  B.  Smith  as  one  of  the 
board  of  railroad  commission,  in  which  office  he  so 
endeared  himself  to  his  associates  and  so  discharged  all 
his  duties  and  made  himself  known  to  the  people  of 


EENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  121 

the  state  that  the  feeling  when  he  resigned  that  his 
place  could  not  be  filled  was  universal. 

He  had  fine  mental  endowments,  was  an  accomplished 
scholar,  well  read  in  history  and  standard  literature, 
thoroughly  informed  in  current  events,  and  a  writer  of 
English  composition  without  a  peer  in  the  state.  He 
was  an  able  lawyer,  a  safe  financier,  a  public-spirited 
citizen.  He  was  loyal,  true,  and  stanch.  He  hated  cant 
and  hypocrisy  as  he  did  humbuggery  and  double  deal- 
ing, and  was  incapable  of  trickery  and  deceit.  He  was 
an  ever  devoted  husband  and  father  and  his  goodness 
to  his  friends  never  wearied  nor  slept.  He  was  the 
prince  of  hosts.  At  his  home  profuse,  inexhaustible 
hospitality  flowed  in  constant  streams,  and  abroad  he 
was  just  as  hearty  and  generous  and  sunny  and  inspir- 
ing. It  was  a  misfortune  not  to  know  him,  and  those 
of  us  who  did  know  him  intimately  counted  his  friend- 
ship among  our  richest  blessings.  A  wife  and  daughter, 
whose  company  and  ministrations  have  lightened  the 
burdens  of  his  long  sickness,  remain  to  remember  how 
great  and  good  he  was. 


122         SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 


The  Country  Lawyer. 

The  death  of  Judge  Bellows  suggests  one  of  the 
changes  that  have  resulted  from  the  railway  and  tele- 
graph, the  turning  of  people  from  agricultural  to  me- 
chanical pursuits  and  the  concentration  of  wealth  and 
population  in  the  cities  and  large  villages  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. He  was  almost  if  not  quite  the  last  of  the  class 
of  men  who  in  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century 
were  known  as  country  or  village  lawyers,  and  of  whom 
there  was  generally  one  and  only  one  in  every  farming 
town  of  importance.  As  a  rule  these  were  great,  strong, 
sturdy  all-round  men.  Many  of  them  were  liberally 
educated  and  most  of  them  were  learned  in  the  law  and 
practice,  had  wealth  of  practical  commonsense,  personal 
integrity,  versatility,  and  tireless  industry.  With  the 
ministers  they  divided  the  leadership  of  the  communi- 
ties in  which  they  lived  in  social,  political,  and  business, 
as  well  as  professional  matters.  Collectively  they  were 
the  first  citizens.  They  were  the  custodians  of  their 
clients  and  neighbors'  private  affairs,  the  arbitrators  of 
their  differences,  their  advisers  in  doubtful  circum- 
stances, often  their  bankers,  and  always  their  friends. 
They  wrote  their  wills  and  settled  their  estates.  They 
shaped  town  policies,  dominated  neighborhood  and 
school  matters,  and  said  what  was  best  in  the  church. 
From  their  ranks  were  drawn  members  of  congress, 
governors,  judges,  leaders  in  the  legislature,  and  officers 
of  the  militia.    Respect  and  honor  followed  them  all  the 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  123 

days  of  their  lives.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  farmers 
and  some  were  storekeepers  and  they  lived  on  the  level 
of  the  common  voter,  which  to  some  extent  explained 
their  influence.  They  rode  their  circuits  in  all  kinds 
of  weather,  went  to  the  county  seats  with  their  own 
teams,  charging  their  clients  only  actual  expenses  and 
fees  which  a  day  laborer  would  scorn  to  accept  in  these 
days.  They  seldom  accumulated  more  money  in  a  life- 
time than  many  a  lawyer  gets  in  a  single  retainer  in 
these  days.  But  at  this  distance  it  looks  as  if  they  led 
most  enviable  lives.  Certainly  if  comfort  and  content- 
ment, the  respect  of  neighbors  and  friends,  influence 
among  associates,  usefulness  to  the  public,  the  satisfac- 
tion of  knowing  that  one  is  honest  and  helpful,  weigh 
against  piles  of  money,  style,  and  admission  to  aristo- 
cratic circles,  these  old-time  lawyers  had  more  to  be 
thankful  for  than  their  successors  in  the  profession. 
But,  as  we  have  said,  they  have  passed  away,  and  in 
their  places  at  the  bar  are  the  city  gents,  who  live  in 
narrow  quarters,  go  to  court  in  the  street  cars,  lunch  at 
the  restaurants,  and  devote  all  their  energies  to  hunting 
for  clients  and  practicing  law  according  to  the  books. 


124         SELECTIOyS  FROM  THE  WRIT1XG8  OF 


Ruel  Durkee. 

[The  following  obituary  of  Ruel  Durkee  appeared  in  The  Mirrok 
July  3, 1885.  Mr.  Putney's  summing  up  of  Ruel  Durkee's  personality 
will  be  found  especially  interesting  in  view  of  the  prominence  that  has 
been  given  to  that  unique  statesman  through  Winston  Churchill's 
characterization  of  him  as  Jethro  Bass  in  "Coniston."] 

The  death  of  Ruel  Durkee  removes  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  in  the  history  of  New  Hampshire. 
His  like  was  never  seen  before  and  never  will  be  again. 
For  thirty  years  or  more  he  was  a  prominent  character 
about  every  Republican  convention,  every  legislature, 
and  nearly  every  court  in  Sullivan  county,  and  so  pecu- 
liar was  he  in  his  character,  methods,  dress,  and  general 
appearance  that  he  was  an  object  of  interest  to  every- 
body. 

Probably  no  man  in  the  state  knew  and  was  known 
by  so  many  people.  At  home  he  was  a  farmer.  He  had 
little  education,  no  culture,  and  none  of  the  suavity  of 
manner  by  which  some  men  get  on  in  the  world,  but 
he  had  great  shrewdness  and  boldness,  the  ability  to  lay 
successful  plans,  and  a  most  wonderful  faculty  of  dis- 
covering the  failings,  opinions,  and  weaknesses  of  others, 
without  "giving  himself  away."  He  had  no  ambition 
to  see  his  name  in  print,  or  to  gather  official  honors  for 
himself,  but  he  did  have  a  perfect  passion  for  being  a 
power  behind  the  throne,  for  having  a  part  in  every 
plot,  for  helping  make  or  unmake  every  man  within  his 
reach.    He  had  strong  prejudices,  but  he  could  always 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  125 

subordinate  them  to  every  end  he  had  in  view.  He  was 
patient,  watchful,  tireless,  and  never  lost  his  head. 
These  qualities  made  him  the  most  successful  log-roller, 
pipe-layer  and  lobbyist  of  his  time. 

For  many  years  he  contributed  very  largely  to  the 
success  of  nearly  every  candidate  for  an  important  of- 
fice who  won,  and  to  the  defeat  of  nearly  every  one 
who  lost;  was  a  great  factor  in  every  controversy  before 
the  legislature,  a  controlling  influence  in  the  politics  of 
his  county  and  town,  and  a  power  not  to  be  despised 
in  the  courts.  Of  late  years  his  influence  has  waned, 
but  looking  back  over  a  quarter  of  a  century  he  could 
say  that  no  other  had  ever  shaped  so  many  men  to  his 
purpose  as  he.  He  was  an  ardent  Republican  and  never 
failed  in  his  allegiance  to  his  party.  It  was  said  of 
him  that  the  first  question  he  always  asked,  when  re- 
quested to  lend  his  assistance  to  any  scheme,  was,  "Will 
it  hurt  the  Eepublican  party?"  and  the  next,  "Will  it 
help  Ruel  Durkee?" 

This  was  generally  true,  but  he  had  many  warm 
friends,  and  to  these  he  was  always  loyal,  regardless  of 
his  own  interest.  He  has  been  called  the  Thurlow  Weed 
of  New  Hampshire,  and  in  many  respects  he  deserved 
the  title.  For  twenty  years  or  more  he  was  chairman 
of  the  board  of  selectmen  of  Croydon,  and  managed  the 
town  business  a  great  deal  better  than  he  did  his  own, 
and  for  a  nominal  compensation.  He  was  also  at  one 
time  appointed  messenger  to  carry  the  electoral  vote 
to  Washington,  and  was  a  delegate  to  our  national  con- 
vention, which  was  the  only  office  he  ever  had  or  wanted. 
In  private  life  he  was  strictly  honest,  a  good  neighbor, 
and  a  good  citizen.    He  leaves  a  wife  but  no  children. 


126  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WHITINGS  OF 


Gilman  Marston. 

There  is  little  need  of  writing  much  about  the  chair- 
man of  the  judiciary  committee  and  leader  of  the  ma- 
jority in  the  House,  for  there  is  probably  no  man  in 
the  state  better  known;  but  a  legislative  record  which 
did  not  contain  some  special  reference  to  him  would 
lack  the  leading  character  in  the  play,  and  I  shall  risk 
a  few  words  in  regard  to  him,  not  concerning  his  bril- 
liant record  at  the  bar,  in  the  army,  or  in  congress,  but 
respecting  the  man  as  he  appears  here  in  the  House, 
where  his  word  is  law  to  more  people  than  that  of  any 
other. 

He  has  been  here  a  great  deal, — how  much  I  don't 
know,  for  his  coming  is  pretty  much  a  matter  of  course, 
and  neither  he  nor  anyone  else  has  kept  the  record. 

At  the  head  of  the  judiciary  committee,  he  is  in 
exactly  the  right  place,  for  he  has  a  healthy  hatred  of 
voluminous  legislation,  and  goes  through  a  batch  of 
bills  like  a  mowing  machine  through  a  bunch  of  flags. 
His  long  practice  in  the  courts  and  his  quick  percep- 
tions enable  him  to  see  the  bearings  of  a  proposed  law 
at  a  glance,  and  he  stabs  as  quick  as  he  sees.  No  other 
man  could  or  would  attempt  to  do  business  the  way  he 
does. 

He  is  a  man  of  strong  friendships  and  as  strong 
prejudices,  and  this  appears  in  his  public  work  as  well 


HENRY  MARCUS  PUTNEY.  J27 

as  in  his  personal  relations,  but  neither  his  friendship 
nor  his  opposition  is  obtained  without  good  reason.  If 
he  believes  in  and  likes  a  man  or  a  measure,  he  can 
always  be  relied  on  to  fight  for  them;  if  he  does  n't,  the 
further  they  keep  from  him  the  better.  There  is  n't 
any  6uch  word  as  policy  in  his  dictionary.  If  he  make3 
up  his  mind  you  are  a  bad  one,  he  will  kick  you  into 
the  street  as  quickly  and  as  savagely  if  you  own  a  whole 
town  and  all  the  voters  in  it,  as  he  will  if  you  are  a 
tramp  and  have  n't  a  friend  or  a  voter  in  the  world. 
When  occasion  offers,  he  can  be  as  ugly  as  a  bulldog. 
There  are  no  concealments  about  him.  More  than  any 
other  public  man  I  ever  knew,  he  says  what  he  thinks, 
whether  it  helps  or  hurts,  and  his  crisp  comments  on 
prominent  men  and  pet  measures  are  sometimes  very 
severe.  They  make  him  many  opponents,  of  course, 
but  he  does  n't  seem  to  care.  He  hates  tramps,  hypo- 
crites and  shams,  and  believes  in  endless  punishment 
for  their  benefit.  He  is  as  ignorant  of  the  arts  and 
methods  of  the  politician  as  a  doctor  of  divinity,  and 
during  a  campaign  is  always  provoking  his  friends  by 
offending  somebody  who  has  votes  or  influence.  Plenty 
cf  men  don't  like  him;  some  are  hostile  to  him;  but 
everybody  respects  him,  and  his  followers  stick  to  him 
and  fight  for  him  with  a  devotion  and  zeal  that  can 
only  come  of  perfect  faith  in  him.  A  most  genial  and 
companionable  man  generally,  when  his  wrath  is  roused 
or  his  contempt  excited,  he  is  as  bitter  as  a  winter  wind, 
I  suppose  no  man  ever  had  the  courage  to  attempt  to 
buy  him,  and,  as  to  driving  him,  that  was  probably  never 
suggested  as  among  the  possibilities.     He  seldom  makes 


128  WRITTNGS  OF   lli:\L-Y    VARCU8  PUTXEY. 

a  long  speech,  and  when  he  talks  makes  no  attempt  to 
display  his  oratorical  powers,  but  his  words  always 
carry  weight,  and  the  House  was  never  so  tired  that 
it  would  not  listen  to  him  attentively. 

Personally  the  general  is  one  of  the  most  popular 
men  who  come  here,  and  no  other's  friendship  or  ac- 
quaintance is  more  highly  valued.  He  is  frank,  gen- 
erous, and  approachable,  knows  how  to  enjoy  himself 
and  to  entertain  others  without  an  effort,  is  a  good 
talker,  has  a  large  fund  of  information  and  anecdote, 
and  is,  in  his  leisure  hours,  a  rare  companion  for  any- 
body. 

We  never  had,  have  not,  and  probably  never  shall 
have,  another  man  like  Gilman  Marston. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

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